Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
by shiftyjake
Summary: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do?  Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.
1. It Was a Bright and Sunny Day

Many thanks to my wonderful betas, moonflower333 and Kitera :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done with it I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I started writing this around the time "Repercussions" aired, so I fully expect to be Jossed before the end of it. I'll do my best to jive with the show as much as possible, given that none of knows everything the real writers are going to throw at us.

* * *

Chapter One: It Was a Bright and Sunny Day

It was peaceful out here. The sun was high, but it was cool under the trees and the susurrus noise the leaves made was enough to mask the highway a mile back. The leaves moved in a breeze Nick Monahan could not feel on the ground here. He had followed Dylan's instructions, left his wife's car in the grassy lot behind the closed gas station, hidden from the street. A deer trail, hardly noticeable, started just past the thick shrubbery at the edge of the trees and led a mile north to a small clearing. Here a blackened fire pit was surrounded on three sides by rotting logs and the whole clearing was littered with old food containers, glass bottles and cigarette butts. It did not take long for Nick to find the large white stone that marked Teresa's grave.

That was, of course, assuming Dylan had told him the truth. Nick supposed he would just have to trust the man… or whatever. Nick still had not said the V-word out loud. He felt foolish for even thinking it.

Then Nick thought of something else. Since he had moved to the Gates not very long ago, there had been two bodies and one missing person. Nick looked at the white stone again. Make that three bodies. He was going to have to talk to Dylan again.

It was a Saturday, and well into the afternoon by the time Nick returned to the Gates. He came in the side door and was startled to find Dylan sitting at the bar in the kitchen, a cup of tea at his elbow. Sarah stood by the sink. Both were laughing at something.

"Hey, Nick," Sarah greeted him. Dylan gave him a sober nod and eyed him cautiously, as if Nick would be the one to bite. "Dylan came by to drop Emily off."

"Haven't they had enough of each other lately?" Nick said, walking past the bar.

Sarah glared at him from behind Dylan. She mouthed, _Be nice_.

A stampede of footfalls ran past invisibly above their heads, accompanied by squealing laughter.

"Didn't see your car out front," Nick said.

"We walked."

"Kinda hot out there, isn't it? Sunny."

"_I_ think it's a beautiful day," Dylan said, smirking. "Where have you been on this fine, sunny afternoon?"

"Changing the oil in Sarah's car." He looked at Sarah and smiled apologetically. "Sorry it took so long. There were five people ahead of me. Next time I'll take it on a weekday."

A muffled buzzer sounded from somewhere in the house. Sarah put her cup down.

"The dryer calls," she announced. She pointed at Nick as she walked backward out of the kitchen and gave him a warning look. In response Nick raised his hands in mock innocent confusion.

As soon as she was gone, Nick turned to Dylan, who was sipping his tea and gazing dreamily out the window in the door, perfectly at his ease.

"We need to talk," Nick said.

"What, again?"

"Yeah."

"I've told you everything I can."

"Oh, so suddenly everything's about you?"

"Are you saying it's not?"

"Not this time. Honey?" Nick called. "I'm driving Dylan back."

A distant "Okay…" came from deep in the house.

"You're not going to run off and stick me with the check again, are you?"

"I don't know. You gonna break any more of my windows? That was real mature, by the way."

"Fair enough." Dylan nodded and had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"Come on." Nick was already halfway out the door, leaving Dylan to rush after him.

"Just go to my house," he suggested once they were in the car. "Claire went _shopping_. She'll be gone for hours." Nick started up the engine.

"Can you at least say why you can't tell me anything else about you?"

"You don't waste time," Dylan muttered to the window as he watched the houses and lawns pass by.

"Nope."

"The answer's no, I can't. I thought this wasn't about me."

"Okay. What do you know about the other residents of the Gates?"

"Very little."

"Are any of them…er… _vampires_?" Nick almost whispered the word and looked around as if the people on the sidewalk might have read his lips.

"Ehm…" Dylan winced, sighed, and finally answered, "Okay. No, not that I know of."

"Okay." Nick nodded. "So is there anything else living here that can rip a grown man's throat out?"

"What are you talking about? Oh, is this about the last chief of police?"

"No, he was shot in the head." Nick slowed the car as they pulled into the Radcliffs' driveway. "And we've already made an arrest. This is about a hunter we found in Franklin Park." He climbed out and looked back down the driveway toward the street. Perfect green lawns marched steadily down the road in either direction. The Radcliffs' mailbox was a tidier mess of broken brick than it had been the first time Nick had visited. He looked up, shading his eyes. There it was. A white camera attached to the top of a street light, recording him even now. Dylan came up behind him.

"I've been noticing those a lot lately," Dylan said.

"Know what I've been noticing? I've been here barely a month and already I've got three bodies, one missing person, last seen at _your_ house, by the way, and a truly impressive mass robbery. And come to think of it, that suspect's dead, too. For what was supposed to be a safe, boring little suburb, this place is pretty dangerous."

"Hm."

"Look, I believe you love your family and you want to keep them safe. I'm here to do exactly that. You can keep blowing me off or you can help me. Which will it be?"

"I'm not blowing you off. I'm telling you the truth."

"What other kinds of ghosts and goblins are living here, huh?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I don't socialize much, if you haven't noticed. I tag along to Claire's functions, that's all."

"You been living here six years and you don't know anybody?"

"You've never lived in a suburb before, have you? Let's go inside." Dylan fished for keys in his pockets and walked up the drive. "It's not that I don't _know_ them," he said in the foyer. "I'm just not privy to their deepest darkest secrets any more than they are mine." As he talked, he passed into the large main room and paced the walls, closing blinds and curtains. The room gradually became dim, cool and cavernous. Nick watched him curiously.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked.

"I've got a headache."

"From being in the sun all day?"

"Rr…" Dylan made an annoyed sort of growl and looked at the ceiling as if asking for patience. "Yes," he said tightly. "I have a headache because I've been in the sun too much today."

Nick grinned to himself.

"So, if you can't tell me anything about the people here, what about out there?" Nick waved a hand at the walls. "What's out there?"

"Oh, I get it." Done with the windows, Dylan went to the kitchen and brought a wine bottle out. "Now that you know a little about me, I'm your one-stop-shop for all your paranormal needs. Hm?" He picked one wine glass from a row hanging under a cabinet and held it up to Nick questioningly.

"Yeah, pretty much. No thanks."

Dylan put the glass back and leaned against the counter.

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don't know. Claire said she saw a ghost once." He shrugged.

"Big help."

"Alright. How's this." Dylan clapped his hands together and brought his fingertips to his mouth. "Before I moved here, every once in a while I might encounter something that sort of set warning bells off. This is dangerous, stay away. Before I moved here, it happened two… maybe three times. Once was when I walked into a shop and there was man that smelled… wrong." Dylan crossed his arms and looked up, remembering. "No, that's not it. He didn't smell _at all_, that was the trouble. But of course everything has a smell. It was wrong enough for me to walk right back out into the street."

"You can smell someone as soon as you walk in a shop?"

Dylan smiled smugly.

"Okay, go on," Nick said. He sat down at the bar on the kitchen island.

"Right. So, things like that happened a few times. Years would go by before I'd see someone with, oh, I don't know, rows of sharp teeth that put mine to shame. I saw that in a gas station in Georgia. Funny thing is, no one else in the place seemed to care."

"Maybe they didn't notice."

"Maybe they couldn't _see_. Maybe one hunter can spot another better than prey can."

"Is that all you are? A hunter?"

"As opposed to what?"

"I don't know, a demon?"

"There's no such thing as demons," Dylan laughed. "That's all just myth and propaganda."

"Fine. So what about here in the Gates? You ever see anything like that here?"

"Here?" He chuckled and shook his head. "Here it happens every week."

_Finally_, Claire thought. She had spotted Barbara at a café table by herself. It was nearly impossible to catch the woman alone, but Claire's persistence had paid off. She took a deep breath to steel herself and then walked boldly over and sat in the wrought iron chair across from Barbara, who looked at her in surprise.

"Claire!" Barbara gave her a too-bright smile. "Good to see you. How have you been?" The smile turned sly. "No more late nights, I hope."

"That's enough," Claire said in a low voice. "You have no idea what was going on the other night."

"Looked pretty obvious to me." Barbara pointed a manicured finger at Claire, still smiling. "You're fooling around behind Dylan's back. While he's spending quality time with your daughter, no less."

"You have no right to judge me."

Barbara gave Claire a long, steady look. The smile faded.

"Okay," she said. "Maybe it is unfair of me, but I can't helping thinking that…" She shook her head and leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. "From one divorcee to a potential one, stop doing whatever you were doing the other night. Besides it not being fair to Dylan –"

"You hardly know Dylan."

"True, but I know what it's going to feel like if he finds out. Anyway, it's not just that. That guy? The one you were out with? He was this close to walking out with me." She held her fingers an inch apart. "The guy's an asshole."

Claire laughed out loud, and tried to smother it with a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, Barbara, you have no idea…"

Barbara sat back, startled and affronted.

"Claire, I'm being serious."

"Barbara," Claire took a deep breath and calmed down. "Hoo… I'm not going behind Dylan's back. Not the way you think. He's an ex, alright? Dylan can't stand him, and he'd be furious if he knew I was having drinks with him, but it's just _drinks_. That's it."

"Sure," Barbara looked at her the way Claire sometimes looked at Emily when she misbehaved. "It starts that way, and if that's what's going on, then stop it now before it turns into something else. I haven't told anyone, if that's what you're wondering. I'm not the homewrecker." The motherly look was gone, replaced by Barbara's habitual catty smile.

Claire left, disgusted but reassured about Barbara. She had not even had to threaten the woman. Devon stepped out from around a corner to block Claire's path to the parking lot. Claire stepped up to the shorter woman so close that her nose almost touched Devon's. Her perfume smelled strongly of lilies and Claire breathed shallowly.

"Out of my way, Devon," Claire said. Devon stood her ground, and even smiled lazily.

"She's lying," the witch said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Barbara. She's telling everyone who will listen about how perfect Mrs. Radcliff is out having drinks without Mr. Radcliff."

"I am completely not surprised that you would eavesdrop."

"She told me."

"It's not working this time," Claire said. She looked around. It was lunchtime, and the crowd in the shopping square had thinned out, but there were enough suburban housewives around to look twice at the two women having a confrontation and whisper to their friends about it. Devon's perfume was sickly sweet and starting to stick at the back of Claire's throat. She stepped around Devon. "Good try, though," she said. "Better luck next time."

"What was the guy's name? Christian?" Devon put a finger to her mouth and smiled. "She told _me_. What's stopping her from telling anyone else?"

"Stay out of it."

"Okay, Claire?" Devon stepped up to her again and put her hands up between them, spreading her fingers out. "Look at it this way. I make problems go away. It's why people come into my shop in the first place." She waved a hand upwards. Sure enough, the sign for Devon's Day Spa hung over Claire's head. Claire had not realized how close she had come to the shop. Had she parked this close to Devon's spa? "Now, I can make your problem go away. Again."

"For a price. What will it be this time? My first born?" Claire shook her head. The perfume was making her dizzy.

"Hey, you can't get something for nothing. Why don't you come inside?"

"Why don't I not?"

"Time's wasting, Claire, and gossip travels fast. It's an easy fix."

"Then why don't you just do it?"

"Because if you're good at something, you should never do it for free." Devon tipped her head toward the door. "So, what'll it be?"

Claire hesitated.

"I'm closed for lunch," Devon assured her. "We'll have privacy."

Finally, Claire moved toward the door, feeling like she was asleep and dreaming. The perfume quickly coated the inside of her mouth and throat, and crept into her sinuses, thick and sweet. It was cold and dim inside, but Claire could see perfectly. The smell was stronger here, like rotting flowers. Herbs, crystals, and sachets of teas were arranged prettily on counters and shelves. Devon walked behind the counter and pulled aside a curtain to reveal a back room. She waved a hand, inviting Claire in. Claire wove unsteadily through the open display floor to the room and entered, using the empty doorframe for support. She felt sick and breathless.

The room seemed to be used mostly for storage, with plain metal shelves lined with cardboard boxes on each wall. More paper and boxes were leaned and stacked against the walls. The center of the room was cleared to make space for a small decorative table draped with a red cloth. There was just enough room on the table for a shallow ceramic bowl and a straight razor.

"You already have…" Claire began, but forgot what she was saying.

"Your blood? That's right, Claire. It's not what I'm after this time." There was hardly enough room for the two of them to stand and not knock the table over. Devon picked up the razor. "Hold your arm out, please."

Claire did. Her head drooped and she jerked it back up, like she was back in school and trying hard to stay awake. With a quick motion, Devon swiped the razor down Claire's forearm. She held the blade up and inspected it, then smiled.

"Thank you, Claire."

"Mm."

Devon scraped the blade against the edge of the bowl, leaving a small dollop of clear gel behind. She laid the razor across the top of the bowl and came up to Claire. The perfume wafted into her face again.

"I'll give you a coat to wear home," Devon said sweetly. "Wouldn't want to ruin that wonderful skin of yours. But Claire?"

"Hm."

"Let's keep this between you and me. And if you ever need help again, I want you to come straight to me. Think you can do that?"

"Mm."

Claire could not remember finding her car or falling asleep in it. When she woke, hers was the only car in the lot and the sun had long since set. She drove home to find the house empty. This frightened her, and she ran around the house, calling for Dylan and Emily until she found Dylan's note on the kitchen counter.

"_Went to pick Emily up from Nick's – D._"

_Oh, "Nick" is it?_ She thought. She dropped a box of tea that she carried in from the car onto the counter and pulled her coat off, only then realizing that it was not hers at all. She stuffed the thing in the back of the hall closet where it lay crumpled on the floor. What had happened to her? She had talked to Barbara, who was insufferably superior, but at least she would not gossip about Christian, which was good. And then…? For some reason she thought of lilies.


	2. Food Chain

Many thanks to my wonderful betas, moonflower333 and Kitera :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I started writing this around the time "Repercussions" aired, so I fully expect to be Jossed before the end of it. I'll do my best to jive with the show as much as possible, given that none of knows everything the real writers are going to throw at us.

* * *

Chapter Two: Food Chain

It was already dark when Andie left Mia's house. She waved good-bye from the front walk a final time and turned onto the sidewalk. Her backpack was heavy with schoolbooks that she had barely opened all day and something jabbed her in the back with every step. She had studied little, even though Mia was supposed to help her catch up on the homework she'd missed since she came down with a bad case of demon temptress.

Andie stopped at a corner and opened her bag up on the sidewalk. She rifled through it, and as she pulled out the heaviest book, the corner caught on the zipper of her pencil case, and book and case came out all at once, spilling pencils, pens, and erasers onto the sidewalk. A white bottle came out with it, and rattled as it rolled a few feet away.

When she got home she would have to take another dose of pills. Really she should have already taken one hours ago, but the laundry list of side effects made her uneasy. She picked up the mess, crab walking from one side of the sidewalk to the other.

Footsteps echoed down the empty street as she slid the last book back into the bag. Andie looked up and saw a figure walking toward her. The figure was dark and still a block away, but she knew even before she looked up that it was male. The man came closer and she watched in fascination. Instead of fear or complacency, something warm and confident blossomed low in her belly. She stood up.

The man was distracted, playing with his phone, but she just thought _Look at me_, and he glanced up and back down at his phone. Once, twice, the third time he slowed and stopped right in front of her, looking down into her eyes. He was in his early thirties, good looking with short hair and an ironic mouth. Without thinking about it, she reached up to touch it.

The man's eyes grew large and black, shark like. He snarled at her and half-lunged. Andie yelped and stumbled back. With a final burst of the confidence she had felt only a moment ago but that was quickly running out, she darted back within reach of the man to grab her backpack, then turned and ran all the way home.

XXXXX

Dylan watched the girl run, tempted to give chase. It was offensive that she thought she could make prey out of him. But she had nearly done it, and very easily, too. Was it worth the risk with Emily waiting for him? No, he decided. He continued on to the Monahans', wishing now that he had driven and looking over his shoulder every half a block or so.

Emily whined and didn't want to go. Dylan gave her "ten more minutes" and pulled Nick aside in the hallway.

"I thought you might like to know…" Dylan told Nick about what he had seen on the walk over to the police chief's house.

Nick put his hands on his hips and frowned at the ground, thoughtful.

"Do you have any idea what she was?" Nick asked.

"No."

"What did she look like? Hang on." Nick turned toward the study at the back of the house, motioning Dylan to follow. He pulled a small notepad from a desk drawer, flipped to a blank page and repeated his question. Dylan shrugged and leaned against the desk.

"Blond," he said. "Pretty. And young, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old."

"Fourteen?" Nick scribbled down the description.

"Well, take that with a grain of salt, of course. I'm not very good at guessing ages, and she might be a hundred years old. You never know." Dylan could see the question forming in Nick's face. "I'm not going to tell you how old I am."

"Figures." Nick sat in the chair behind the desk, making Dylan twist around to face him. "Okay, will you answer this one? Why'd you tell me about this?"

"What?" Dylan gave him a bemused smile. "I thought you'd be interested to know."

"There are a lot of things I'd be interested to know about, starting with you."

"Just wanted to do you a favor. Again." Dylan stood. "Now, I'm going to collect my daughter and go home."

"This girl or whatever she is, she scared you, didn't she? The same way you scared me."

Dylan ignored him except to raise a hand to wave good-bye over his shoulder. In the TV room, Dana and Emily were watching cartoons.

"Emily. Time to go."

Emily peered over the back of the couch where she and Dana were watching a cartoon. Nick came up behind him.

"But Daddy…" Emily started to whine.

"Emily," Dylan said in a warning tone, "If you keep this up, we won't be coming over again. Get your things."

"But—"

"One…" he began counting.

Emily's eyes went wide and she scampered off the couch to gather up the coloring book and crayons on the coffee table.

"Dylan…" Nick said from the hallway. Dylan turned reluctantly to face him.

"Okay, yes," he said. "She _unsettled_ me. It's a bit of a shock to find you might not be at the top of the food chain after all."

"Tell me about it. Look, I've got an idea."

"About what?"

"What if we traded information?"

"What information do you have that I would want?"

"You think I'm just gonna sit on my ass after you drop not one but two –" Nick glanced at the girls and lowered his voice. "Supernatural bombshells in my lap? If I don't know much now, I will soon."

"You're going to get yourself and your entire family killed."

"If you were so concerned about that, why did you go straight to the police about this girl that scared you?"

"I didn't go –" Dylan stopped because of course he had done just that. He turned away. "Emily, stop playing and pick up."

"Does Emily know?"

"Leave her out of it."

"Why? You said it's dangerous. Okay, so why is it dangerous for me to know more about…" Nick glanced down the hallway and dropped his voice. "_You_? Are the _others_ going to come and get me? Are you?"

"Stop."

"How many are there? Are they organized?"

"Stop!"

"How will they know I know unless you tell them? Do they know about Emily?"

"Who was Teresa?" Dylan asked in a deceptively calm voice. Nick paled and looked past Dylan, who followed his eyes to the girls in front of the TV. Dana was across the table, helping Emily pick up and had looked up just in time to catch her father's stricken face. Dylan turned his back on the girls. "I haven't asked yet because I didn't think it was any of my business. But since you seem so intent on prying into my life…"

"Fine," Nick said in a tight voice. "You made your point."

"Good. Ready Emily?"

"Uh-huh." Emily came up to him, coloring books and crayon box clutched clumsily to her chest. Dylan took them from her.

"Hey, Dylan –" Nick started. Dylan waved a pink princess coloring book at him.

"No, we're done and I'm taking Emily home."

"Actually I was just going to offer you a ride. Considering what you told me…" Nick glanced significantly at Emily.

Dylan hesitated. He could take care of himself, and Emily, too, if it came to that. At least he thought he could. Finally he nodded.

"Okay," Nick said as he backed out of the driveway, craning his neck around to see over his shoulder. "I'll back off on the questions, under one condition."

"What's that?" Dylan asked. He looked back at Emily, buckled in the backseat. She hummed to herself and looked out the window.

"That if ever me or my family is in danger from a…" Nick pulled into the street and glanced in the rearview mirror at Emily. "An umpire—" Dylan snorted and shook his head. "Then you tell me right away. I need to know that I can trust you to do that." Streetlights flashed past outside, sending brief waves of illumination through the cab.

"Fine. Umpires, referees, you name it." Dylan snickered.

"I mean it."

Dylan coughed and sobered. "I will tell you if you are in imminent danger from any… umpires." He coughed again.

"Thank you."

"No problem." He paused. "You're on your own with the catchers, though."

XXXX

Dylan smelled vinegar as soon as he stepped into the house, and underneath that the meaty scent of liver. He sent Emily off to put her books and crayons away. The TV was on and Claire was stretched out on the couch, already in her nightgown, watching _Bewitched_ reruns. On the coffee table was an empty plate. Dylan leaned over the back of the couch.

"Raw liver and vinegar," he observed. "Bad day?"

Claire rolled over so that she could look up at him and put her hands behind her head.

"Sort of," she said with a wicked grin. "It's improving now, though."

Dylan chuckled and leaned over the couch to give her a kiss.

"Pfew," he said. "You have vinegar breath."

She slapped him playfully.

"So how are things with '_Nick_'?" she asked.

Dylan walked around to sit next to her, and Claire curled up into his side, giving a little satisfied sigh.

"Better than I expected," Dylan told her. "I told him where the body was."

"I wondered what you meant about letting Teresa convince him. Are you sure it's the best idea?"

"Don't know about the best, but I think it worked. Reciprocity," he said thoughtfully. "It's easy for people like us to lose the knack of it, but _they_ never do."

"You mean humans?"

"If that's where you want to draw the line between us, yes." Dylan did not like the idea that he might not be considered precisely human. Claire was more comfortable with the delineation. It was an old argument between them that never amounted to much.

"You always got along better with them," Claire observed. "Maybe that's why. You understand their quirks."

"Hm." Dylan moved Claire's hair back and nuzzled the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

"You can't get something for nothing…"

"Hm?" He nibbled and she leaned her head back lazily.

"Someone said that to me today…" Claire's head snapped back up, her chin colliding with Dylan's nose. "Devon!"

"Oof!" Dylan rubbed his nose. "What?"

"Oh, Dylan. I need to tell you something, and you're going to be angry."

"What is it?" he said, already fearing the worst, but trying to keep it out of his voice.

"It's not _that_. I did it to protect us…"

"What did you do, Claire?"

"I went to Devon a few days ago and… um…" Claire rubbed her nose and coughed. "Um…" She put the back of her hand to her mouth, as if she felt ill.

"Claire? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just um… a long day." She smiled reassuringly at Dylan.

"So you went to Devon's shop…" Dylan waved his hand in a circle in a _go on_ gesture.

"Oh. Oh, yes. I went there. She knows about us." Claire's words spilled out in a rush. "I didn't tell her, but –Oh…" She groaned and stood unsteadily, a hand to her face. "Dylan, do you smell that? It's awful."

"Just the vinegar. Claire, you're scaring me."

"Mm…"

Claire stumbled through the living room into the bathroom in an alcove by the kitchen. Dylan followed, calling her name. Quick little footsteps on the stairs above signaled Emily's arrival just as Claire leaned over the toilet and retched.

Not knowing what else to do, Dylan held her hair as Emily peeked into the bathroom and asked timidly if Mom was okay.

"She's not feeling well, Emmie, but she'll be fine," he assured the girl, not feeling at all as confident as he sounded. He could not remember the last time either he or Claire had been sick. Had the liver been tainted somehow?

When Claire collapsed between the toilet and the wall, flushed and shaking, Dylan felt her face and was alarmed to find it hot. He brushed her cheek and called her name gently.

"Devon," she said, so quietly that Dylan strained to make it out. "Devon…"

"Devon?" Dylan asked, incredulous.

Claire put her hands to her head, tangling her fingers in her hair and pulling. She curled up and sobbed out, "Get Devon!"

"Okay," Dylan said, crouching in front of her. "Okay. It's alright." He untangled her fingers and forced her arms down into her lap.

"Daddy?" Emily still stood in the door, frightened tears in her eyes.

"It's okay, Emily. I'll take care of Mum while you go brush your teeth, alright?"

"Mom?" Emily called to Claire. "Mom, what's the matter?"

Dylan was still half-turned and facing Emily when the girl's face cleared and her mouth dropped open in surprise. When he turned back to Claire, he saw his wife's eyes were almost entirely black. They were focused on him, thank God, but Emily had still seen more than they had ever wanted her to see.

"Emily, go brush your teeth," Dylan said sternly. Without waiting to see if she obeyed, he turned away. Taking Claire's face in his hands and bringing it close to his, he whispered sharply at her, "Claire! Get a grip. Emily's in here."

Claire shook her head and closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, they were her normal brown. Dylan scooped Claire up in his arms and carried her easily past Emily, still too frightened to leave her parents, and upstairs, murmuring comforting words to Claire the whole way. Claire shivered in his arms and buried her face in his chest. Emily walked quietly behind.

Once Claire was in bed, Dylan took Emily to her room. It was an early bedtime for a weekend, but Dylan tucked her in just the same. She went quietly, which was unusual for her, except that she kept asking what was wrong with Mommy.

"I don't know," Dylan told her. "I'm going to call the doctor in the morning if she's not feeling better." He pulled the yellow coverlet up to her chin and she curled up under it.

"Can I sleep in your room tonight?" Emily asked.

"No, love, you know you can't."

"Mom lets me. Sometimes."

Dylan had not known that. It must be when he was out of town. He would have to talk to Claire about that. It was dangerous. For now, he just kissed Emily's forehead and ran his fingers through her hair and down her back to help her fall asleep. She closed her eyes. He hummed for a little while before singing her favorite lullaby.

When her breathing changed and he was sure she was asleep, Dylan crept down to the kitchen and returned to Claire, a glass filled with blood from the freezer in his hand. After some encouragement, Claire drank it down and fell into a half-sleep soon after, still shivering, and curled up in Dylan's lap. Dylan leaned back against the headboard and passed a sleepless night watching and worrying over his wife.


	3. Black Magic Woman

Many thanks to my wonderful betas, moonflower333 and Kitera :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I started writing this around the time "Repercussions" aired, so I fully expect to be Jossed before the end of it. I'll do my best to jive with the show as much as possible, given that none of us knows everything the real writers are going to throw at us.

* * *

Chapter Three: Black Magic Woman

Devon slept in on Sundays. The shop was closed and she usually worked late in the back room on Saturdays, and this Saturday had been an especially late night. She had been researching and experimenting with her new toy, Claire Radcliff's sunscreen. She had poked it, prodded it, dipped it in this, and soaked it in that. She had done everything she could think of to determine what, if any, magical properties it had, and was disappointed to find none. That did not mean it had no magical properties, only that she could not detect them, and therefore could not duplicate them or negate them wholesale. Not easily, anyway.

It was nearly noon when she rolled out of bed Sunday morning and took a long shower. Not bothering to dress yet, Devon simply shrugged into a red and white kimono to walk around the apartment. She measured out exactly a cup of chopped fruit and a half-cup of yogurt for breakfast and went to her study to eat it.

The study was dark, as it always was. Blackout curtains hung over the single window and in front of the door, and she had removed all the light bulbs in the room. Some of the objects there were sensitive to daylight, and the light bulbs tended to flicker and shatter unexpectedly. She kept a few candles and matches on a table by the door for light, and lit them. The walls were covered in objects dangling from hooks: home made dolls, dried herbs and roots, bones and feathers bound in twine, rolled papers, sticks tied together in complex shapes. Red and white circles had been painted on the walls behind many of the objects, some with lines drawn in various patterns through the circles. A wooden table and chair occupied the center of the room. The table was large, solidly built, and almost new, with only a few small nicks in the surface in front of the chair where Devon sat to do her work. A circular mirror hung opposite the window and a wardrobe stood against the far wall. A white chalk circle had been drawn around the handles on the wardrobe doors. Similar circles surrounded the handles on each of the three drawers below the doors.

Devon surveyed her collection and ate her breakfast, walking the perimeter of the room and touching or stroking some of the objects. When she had finished the fruit, she left the bowl on the table and opened the doors to the wardrobe. She stepped back, a hand over her nose and mouth. The smell took some getting used to. She took a deep breath of relatively fresh air and leaned in to look at her special collection.

Here again, objects dangled from hooks, but these were of a grislier sort. A black and shrunken cat's head, decorated with feathers covered in some sticky solution hung next to a bunch of dried plant stalks soaked in something black and stinking. There was a rotting mess of bones and black feathers bound with fraying string and a doll made of dried grass, more yellowish string looped loosely around it, and topped with a large rat's skull. Every surface in this part of the wardrobe was coated in something brownish and flaking. Devon touched each of her treasures in turn, turning and examining each one. When she got to the doll, she froze. She took it off its hook and looked closely at it. Something snickered meanly behind her. Devon whirled to face the mirror and thrust the doll at it.

"What is this?" she demanded of the mirror, with a deceptively sweet smile. She plucked at the drooping string, now fraying into long, blond hairs. "It's loose."

"IT's a SpeLl on ItS wAy ouT," a voice warbled from somewhere near the window. Devon turned again to face the window.

"I can see that. When did it happen?"

"HoUrs AgO." The voice was thin and wavered from moment to moment from audible to almost too quiet to hear. Its breath hissed as it spoke, though the source of the voice did not seem to breath otherwise. She had grown used to it by now and had no trouble making out its words.

"And just why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"YoU dIdN't aSk mE To." The voice snickered again, this time from beside the wardrobe.

"Show yoursef!" Devon shrieked at it.

Immediately the creature appeared. Short and humanoid, it seemed made of burnt wood, blackened and cracked. A red glow seeped out from the cracks, and occasional bursts of sparks showered onto the wood floor when the creature moved. It was jointed in a humanoid fashion, with knees and wrists and so on, but it moved as if it were a marionette on strings, and the joints could bend in either direction. It floated when it wanted to and made walking motions only to amuse itself. Its hands were stiff, long, and claw like. It had no face, only an elongated head, blackened, cracked and sparking like the rest of it, making it impossible to tell which side was its front, and which the back. The voice seemed to come from its midsection.

"What. Happened," she said, her words clipped and uneasy

"HoW sHouLd I KnOw? YoU TriEd tO BiNd sOmeThinG NoT MeaNt to bE boUnD." The thing floated up and sat on the top of the wardrobe. "VaMpiRes iS DifFicuLt, AiN't tHey? At LeAst yOu'rE sAfe _HeRe._" It snickered.

"She's going to kill me," Devon whispered, horrified.

"No, sHe Won'T. HeR hUsbAnD-fATheR-loVEr WilL."

"Dylan. You said you didn't know which one it would be."

"ThEsE tHiNGs bEcoMe cLeARer WiTh TiMe."

"Well, the next time something 'clears up' tell me immediately or I'll send you back where you came from."

The creature flinched back from her and she glared at it for an extra few seconds to make her point. She looked down at the doll for a moment before stalking to the wardrobe. Devon jerked a drawer open and pulled out a ball of blond hair spun into string and a pair of scissors. Measuring out a length of it, she cut it with the scissors and quickly wrapped it around and around the doll as tightly as she could without pulling the string apart. Human hair did not make good string, but she had it on good authority that it was the most powerful thing to use for spells like this.

"There," she said when it was done and the doll was rebound. "Will that work?" She held the doll up to the blackened creature.

"FoR wHaT?" it asked disdainfully.

"For the binding spell," Devon said with false patience. She had learned never to use sarcasm with the creature. It intentionally took everything she said literally.

"No," it said, and snickered.

"Then what will?"

"YoU MusT gO To hEr AnD MakE hEr DriNk thE sPelL." The phone rang in the living room. The creature cocked its featureless head and hissed. "YoU'LL WanT To aNsWEr tHaT," it said.

Devon quickly closed the doll back up in the wardrobe and left the room. The blackened creature stayed behind, unable to leave. She dashed into her living room, her kimono flapping around her knees, and caught the phone just before it went to voicemail. She didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Devon?"

Dylan Radcliff. Her fingers went numb in terror and hope and she almost dropped the phone.

"Dylan?" she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. "I was about to call Claire," she continued in a rush, and to her growing embarrassment, she kept talking. "I gave her something yesterday and I was just wondering how she took to it. You know, if she was feeling better at all, or if she had had any bad reactions to it. God forbid, of course, but it happens." She trailed off and bit her tongue. She twisted the mouthpiece of the phone up so that Dylan would not hear her panting. Silence stretched and Devon opened her mouth to speak, but Dylan's voice cut her off.

"Bad reaction?" he murmured.

"Um…"

"I think it's safe to say she's having a bad reaction, Devon. What did you give her?"

"Some herbs to help her with cravings. She told me she was having a little trouble with that."

"What kind of herbs?"

"Oh, some fennel, saint johns wort, gingko." She listed off herbs almost at random, and then remembered something the marionette creature had told her. "And ash bark, I think."

"Wait. Ash? As in the wood?"

"Yes. Is something wrong?" Devon smiled, sensing the trap closing around the Racliffs again.

There was some rustling and muffled noise before Dylan spoke again.

"She's allergic to ash."

"Oh. Oh, no."

"Look –"

"I know," she interrupted him. "Why don't I fix up a new batch without the ash and bring it over."

"I don't think that's necessary."

"How is she?" she asked, belatedly.

"Bad." His tone changed. Real fear threaded through his voice and Devon's heart jumped at the sound of it. Fear could be exploited. "She won't talk to me, and I can't stop her bleeding."

"Bleeding?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Yes. It started this morning. Her nose, her mouth, I can't…"

"You can't take her to a hospital, can you?"

There was another long pause before Dylan spoke again.

"She said you knew about us."

"Your secret's safe with me."

"She asked for you specifically. Can you do anything?"

"Yes," she answered immediately. "I'll be there in an hour."

Back inside her study, Devon closed the door and leaned back against it, blowing a halting, almost giddy sigh out between her lips.

"Good news," she said to the air. The creature had hidden itself again. "The geas held! She tried to tell Dylan about me, but it's got her now."

"I tOlD yOu iT wOulD."

"If she was anything but a vampire, she'd be dead." Devon could not believe her good luck. She had never cast a geas before, and to have it succeed so wonderfully was just… beautiful. She stopped then and frowned. "Wait, what if he's lying to me because he knows he can't get in here without an invitation?"

"He MigHt Be."

"You said one of them would kill me."

"YeS."

"I can still stop it, right?"

"YEs."

"Good. Will I die today?"

"No."

"Well, that's a relief. Now, how do I get Dylan's blood?"

"YoU cAn'T. He'S tOo cAuTiOUs. He AiN't gONna GiVe it tO YoU."

"Then how can I protect myself from him?"

"NeVeR LeaVE YoUr HomE aNd NeVEr iNviTe HiM iN."

"I'll rephrase that," she said with a small, displeased smile. "How do I put a geas on Dylan without his blood?"

"InVitAtiOns aRe PoWerFul, aNd Not jUsT fOr tHeM. If TheY InVitE yOu InTo ThEir HomE, yOU WilL NoT nEeD hiS BlOod."

"Okay. What about the body? I still need the –" Devon winced. "I can't believe I'm saying this. I need the left forefinger of a murder victim. _His _victim. And I don't have the time or the money to go to St. Louis."

The creature chuckled.


	4. Mission Accomplished

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

(Good bye, Kitera, you've been a great help!)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Four: Mission Accomplished

A little girl answered the door when Devon rang the bell.

"Hello," she said in the condescending voice she usually reserved for animals. She leaned down with her hands on her knees. "Emily, isn't it? Aren't you just adorable. Can I come in?"

"Are you Devon?" the girl asked.

"Yes, sweetie."

The girl hesitated and gave her a long look up and down before nodding and stepping back. The witch entered and hoped it was invitation enough to do as the creature had told her. It was dark inside, and the girl quickly closed the door behind them, making the house even darker. She led the way to the stairs. Dylan appeared at the top, his T-shirt and cotton pants splattered with blood that looked black in the dim light. The girl sat down on the bottom step and stayed there while Devon passed her and followed him into the master bedroom.

"Emily's so sweet," she said to Dylan's back. "I could just… eat her up…" She trailed off when she entered the room. The drapes were drawn here, too, and it reminded her of her study. It reeked of the metallic scent of blood. Claire was a mess, as were the bedclothes, all rust-brown and red. She was bone thin, curled up and shaking, her hands clenched in fists in her tangled hair. Devon could not see her face, but heard little whimpering sounds from the bed.

"Fix this," Dylan said simply, threateningly.

"Got it," Devon breathed. She crossed to the bed and knelt down beside Claire. Careful not to get the blood on her clothes, she pulled Claire's hair away from her face. The vampire's eyes glittered from under the shadow her arm made and her face was gaunt. Devon rocked back on her heels. "Can you give us some privacy?"

"No." Dylan leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

"Alright…" She leaned in to Claire. "Claire? Can you hear me?"

Claire let out a quiet sob and shrank into herself, curling up into a tighter ball.

"Oh, sweetie, if you want to get better, you have to drink this." She pulled a metal flask out from her bag and held it up so the other woman could see. She unscrewed the top and awkwardly tried to get her to sit up.

"Afraid you'll muss your blouse?"

Dylan was suddenly on the bed, wedging an arm under Claire's shoulders to prop her up. Devon had not realized how quickly and quietly he could move. Again, she held the flask up and put it to Claire's lips. The woman's face was covered in blood, some dried, some still wet. The dried stuff around her mouth cracked when she opened her lips and drank, choking a little at first. Behind his wife, Dylan could not see the hatred in her face. She glared at Devon, who smiled blandly back at her.

"There," she said when the flask was empty. "That should do it." She looked at Dylan. "Can I use your bathroom?" She could see him about to say no, about to kick her out of the house and revoke her invitation, but a phone on the bedside table let out a tuneful ring.

Dylan picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. He let his head droop for a moment and Devon saw how tired he was for the first time. He laid Claire back down gently, whispered something into her ear, and clambered off the bed, the phone still ringing in his hand. He paused at the bedroom door.

"If she dies, you do, too," Dylan told Devon, pointing at her, then left the room to take the call.

"But not today," Devon said to Claire, when he had left. She tweaked the vampire's nose, and Claire batted weakly at her with a skeletal hand.

Devon left her on the bed and gathered her flask and her big purse and walked into the adjoining bathroom, craning her neck to peek down the hallway as she passed the bedroom door. Dylan was gone, but she could hear his voice somewhere on the landing. In the bathroom, she went immediately to the trashcan and poked through it, finding only the usual bits of paper and Q-tips. Some fingernail clippings looked promising, but she could not be sure whose they were. Next she checked the sink, but it was rinsed clean, and then the drawers. In the third drawer she opened, she found a comb with short, light brown hairs still stuck in the teeth. From her purse, she produced an envelope, dropped the comb into it and sealed it.

* * *

On the landing, Dylan pushed the little green button and put the phone to his ear.

"Nick," he said immediately. "Are you home?"

"Nooo…" Nick said after a short silence. "I'm at work. Actually –"

"Is Sarah at home? Or Charlie?"

"Why?"

"I need someone to take Emily." Dylan paced the landing. He looked down at Emily, still waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He had told her not to come up. She waved at him and he came down to sit beside her.

"Any special reason?" Nick asked, suspicion in his voice.

"Claire's sick." Emily stretched out on the step and put her head on his leg, ignoring the dried blood on it.

"Didn't know you got sick."

"We don't."

"What, isn't Claire – doesn't she… _play ball_?"

"Not your business. Is someone at home that can look after Emily for the day?"

Emily sat up and shook her head adamantly at him. He made shushing motions with his free hand and then wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

"You got a funny way of asking for favors."

"You've got a funny way of repaying them," Dylan answered. He twisted his neck around to look back up at the landing. "Hang on," he said, then held the phone away from his ear. He heard Devon's voice, but could not make out what she was saying through the walls. Shaking his head, he put the phone back up to his ear. Emily stood up and climbed the stairs. "Hey," he called to her, but then Nick spoke and he let her go.

"Hello?" Nick said. "You still there?"

"Yes. So, is anyone at home?"

"Sarah might be back from that committee meeting by now, but I don't know. Look, can you tell me what you were doing last night?"

"What?"

"Last night, where were you?"

"I told you, Claire's sick. I was here taking care of her. Why?"

"Franklin PD found Barbara Jansen's body in a dumpster this morning. It's got bite marks on it."

"So? You have teeth, too."

"So the ME took a cast and it shows two especially long canines. Sound familiar?"

"Well, it wasn't me."

"I believe you."

"Really? I'm touched."

"Don't get too cozy. I took the precaution of checking that camera outside your house. No cars left last night, so…"

"I'm off the hook. Wonderful." Dylan rolled his eyes. He stood and began pacing a slow circuit around the house as he talked.

"I might need you to help me out on this, though."

"What, confirm or deny?"

"Yeah."

While he talked on the phone, Dylan did not hear Devon's footsteps on the landing or when she descended the stairs, and she was already at the door by the time he looked up to see her. She pulled the door open and a bright stripe of sunlight fell across the foyer. He was at the edge of it in an instant, safe in the shadows, though the ambient light was hot and prickly on his skin.

"She's fine," Devon assured him from the safety of the sunlit doorway before leaving and closing the door behind her. He was mollified to hear the hurried clacking of her footsteps down the driveway to her car and the slight squeal of tires as she pulled out. He could always go after her later if Claire was anything less than completely cured. Nick's tiny voice brought him back to the present.

"Dylan? What the hell is he doing?" Nick muttered the last to himself.

"Nick. I've decided to accept your proposal."

"What proposal? What the hell is going on?"

"An exchange of information. Since you are so suicidally determined to stick your nose into it."

"I'm listening."

"I'll look at your corpse if you will look into Devon."

"Devon Buckley? She runs that spa, right?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Well, she's no umpire, but she definitely knows the game."

"She didn't seem so bad when I met her. I mean she gave my wife tea."

"Well, don't drink it, whatever you do. She did the same for my wife and I've been up all night dealing with the consequences."

"So she got a bad batch, so what?"

Dylan sighed into the phone.

"So we don't get sick."

Nick absorbed the confirmation of Claire's status in thoughtful silence.

"And Emily?" he finally asked.

"As human as Dana."

"Thank you."

"Hm."

"You know, I still can't go investigating someone without probable cause. I couldn't do much even if I did find something. Not without a warrant."

"Did you have a warrant when I found you skulking around my yard that night?"

Staticky silence on the other end. Dylan smirked.

"The prowler?" Dylan said helpfully.

"What?"

"You said you got a report of a prowler."

"Oh."

"Lies can be so hard to keep track of. Not that I'm in any position to criticize."

"I'll see what I can do about Devon."

"Thank you."

"Okay, we'll have to go to the morgue tonight, after hours. No civvies allowed without the proper permission."

"How do we get in?"

"I'll figure something out. Hey, can you hypnotize people?"

"Goodbye, Nick."

"Wait. Tell Claire I said – I hope she feels better."

"I will."

Emily was on the bed with Claire when Dylan returned, several bags of blood in his hands. Her arms surrounded the girl, who had her head leaning on Claire's shoulder. It could not possibly have been comfortable for Emily. Her mother's bones were clearly visible under skin stretched tight across them. But the girl clung tightly to her all the same. She spoke quietly to Claire, but Dylan heard her clearly.

"Is that why you wear so much sunscreen?" Emily asked.

"Yes, sweet," Claire whispered back.

Claire's hands still trembled, so he held the bag for her as she drank greedily. She finished every bag, and as she drank the flesh returned to her frame. By the time she finished the last one, she looked healthy enough, if a little thinner than usual. Dylan took her face in his hands. It was caked in blood, some still sticky, and some flaking off. Dylan licked some of the blood off of her upper lip and watched her carefully.

"You're not bleeding anymore," he observed. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Tired."

"I could kill her for doing this to you," he said. Claire narrowed her eyes and said nothing. "Emily," he turned to the girl, who watched them with open-mouthed fascination. "I'm going to get your mum cleaned up, then… then I'll want to talk with you. Is that alright?"

Emily nodded and bounced off of the bed.

When she was gone, he licked Claire's face again until it was relatively clean.

"Do you want anything?" he asked.

"A shower," she said, and smiled a little at him.

Dylan helped Claire clean up in the shower and afterwards stripped the bed down to the mattress, which was thankfully clean, and put new linens on it. Claire sat at her vanity and stared at her reflection, her teeth on edge.

"Come lay down," he told her when he was done.

"I'm too angry to sleep," she said.

He came over to crouch by the vanity and peered up into her face.

"You don't have to sleep to rest," he said. "You said yourself you were tired."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"Claire." He gave her a pleading look. She huffed but she stood and stalked to the bed to lay down with her back to him. Dylan lay down with her for a while, spooning against her back until some of the tension left her body.

"Emily just asked me," she said suddenly, her voice strangely loud after the prolonged silence. "Point blank. 'Are you a vampire or something?'" She shrugged. "So I told her the truth." She twisted her neck until she could see his face. "Do you think I should have? Maybe if I'd thought quicker, I could have lied."

"No." He kissed her shoulder. "It had to come some time. And it sounds like she was already putting two and two together."

"She took it well. She hugged me." She shook her head in wonderment.

"Mm," he agreed. "I should talk to her. See if she really is taking it that well. Will you at least try to sleep?"

"No." She hiked an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, why do I bother?"

Downstairs, Dylan found Emily watching TV with the sound low. He stopped at the wide entrance to the room and leaned against the corner of the wall.

"Is this what you do on Sundays when we sleep in?" he asked.

"Pretty much." She dug in the cushions for the remote and turned off the TV. Scooting to the far end of the couch, she sprawled across it, her head and shoulders propped up by the big brocade pillows against the armrest, one leg resting on the back of the couch. She was getting tall. He smiled and shook his head at her.

"Sit properly," he told her. Emily rolled her eyes and shifted without moving her shoulders until both feet were on the floor, making her look like a twisted rag doll on the couch. "Oh, is that how it's going to be?" he asked her. "We'll see about that." She laughed as he crossed the room with playful determination and grabbed her around the midsection. He swung her up as easily as if she were a toddler, as she giggled hilariously, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before dropping her onto the cushions. She kicked and struggled and squealed with delight as he horse played with her, throwing her onto the couch and, when she tried to scramble away, snatching her up and tossing her back onto it again.

Eventually, she tired of the game and collapsed, panting and grinning, onto the couch. The brocade cushions had all fallen to the floor and now there was room enough for her curl up in the corner made by the back and the high armrest. Dylan was just beginning to hope that he wouldn't have to have _the talk_ after all when Emily spoke.

"Why'd you lick that stuff off of Mum? She was going to shower anyway." She pulled her knees up and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Did it bother you?" he asked, genuinely curious but afraid of the answer. He had not thought much about it at the time. The blood was awful, but he knew Claire would find it comforting and so he did it.

"It was way gross, like when you guys kiss." Emily made a face.

"Not that bad, surely." Dylan laughed.

"Yeah, it was."

"And don't call me Shirley," they recited in unison. Dylan reached over to tug on the cuff of her jeans.

"Hey, how are you taking all this?" he asked.

"Actually, it explains a lot." She leaned back and shrugged. She pulled some of her hair forward and started playing with it, her eyes down.

"If you ever have any questions…" Dylan began, unsure how to continue.

"Can you turn into a bat?" she asked suddenly.

"No. Can you?"

"Of course _I_ can't!" Emily rolled her eyes and giggled. She sobered quickly and went back to playing with her hair, separating one strand and weaving it through her fingers. "Daddy?" she said in a small voice. "Did that blond lady make Mom sick?"

"Yes. I don't know if she meant to, though."

"Yes, she did."

Dylan sat up straighter at the pure certainty in the girl's voice.

"What makes you say that?" he asked.

She dropped the hair and put her hands up defensively. "Okay, I know I wasn't supposed to go upstairs, but I saw the lady talking to Mum."

"You devious little thing." Dylan pulled her little toe and leaned forward. "What did she say?"

"She said something about a 'guess,' I think?" She screwed up her face and wrinkled her nose, trying to remember, then shook her head. "I couldn't hear anything else, but Mom was mad. I mean, really mad. Like that time I _accidentally_ opened the curtains to wake you up? Which I'm still really sorry about, by the way."

"Forgotten." Dylan waved his hand.

"I think we should call the cops."

"I already have. You know Mr. Nick? Dana's father? He'll help us."

"Oh. Good." She gave a little satisfied nod that reminded him of Claire.

"Emily, listen. You can't tell anyone about us, what we are, what Devon did, or what you heard. None of it."

"Why?"

"Because while your mum and I love you very much, there are other people out there who would… take you away from us if they knew about your mum and me."

"Why?"

"Well, the vampires would do it because you're human, and the humans would do it because we're vampires."

"What?"

"I'll have to think of a better way to explain that, but for now just trust me. Can you keep a secret?"

"Definitely."

"Good girl."


	5. Want Some Mustard with That?

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Five: Want Some Mustard with That?

Claire was pacing the room and fuming when Dylan returned. He took it as a good sign that she was on her feet.

"I'm going out," he told her. "But I need to ask you first, what exactly did Devon say to you?"

"Say to me?" She stopped and frowned at him. "She didn't say anything."

"Emily said she saw her talking to you. She said the word 'guess.' Though I don't know what that means."

"No." She shook her head. "Or if she did, I didn't hear it."

"The way Emily described it, whatever she said made you angry."

"Well, I am angry, so maybe she's right. How is she?"

"In good spirits." He went to the closet and dressed hurriedly. "She says she can keep a secret."

"I hadn't thought about that." Claire frowned at the carpet.

"It'll be alright," he assured her as he shrugged into his coat. It was a hot day for September, but it would minimize his exposure to the sun. "Besides, I always seem to be the one to give us away."

"Always in a good cause. Are you going after Devon?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes. She may have done this on purpose, and if that's the case…"

"What?" Her eyes were dark and she smiled excitedly.

"I'll bring you her heart and serve it to you in bed."

She grabbed the lapel of his jacket and pulled him close.

"What happened to Mr. Caution?" she asked.

"Unwelcome persons have entered his house."

She kissed him deeply. He chuckled and picked her up to lay her gently on the bed. When they surfaced several minutes later, Claire said, "Make it look like a painful accident," and gave him a push toward the door.

Downstairs, Dylan searched the phone book, and when he found what he wanted, picked up the landline and dialed. A click on the other end of the line signaled someone was in the shop, and a moment later Devon's voice said, "Devon's Day Spa." He smiled to himself and dropped the receiver back in the cradle.

"Got it in one," he said to the room at large. On his way out the door, he gave Emily a good-bye kiss.

He had only once entered Devon's Day Spa. The place exuded an aggressive femininity that made him distinctly uncomfortable, like he might knock something over at any moment. Today he looked forward to chipping off a little of that perfect suburban veneer.

He raced to the shopping plaza only to find the spa closed up and dark. That was alright. Nobody slept there, so he could force his way in and if he failed to catch Devon herself, he could at least make mischief in her absence. He pulled up to the curb nearest the entrance. Sunday shoppers were sparse, but there were enough of them to make breaking in in broad daylight awkward. A gaggle of bottle blonds sat at a wrought iron table at the café on the corner and a couple of schoolgirls were having ice cream across the street. Still, it might pay to have a look around.

As soon as he stepped out of the car he smelled the eye-watering tang of mustard seed. Automatically, he stopped breathing, but he knew from experience that would do little good. Fumes from the seeds burned his eyes and the inside of his nose, and only grew stronger as he approached. Before his eyes teared up too badly, he saw the little black specks all over the pavement in front of the closed door. He wiped his face and backed away, the skin around his eyes already burning where the tears had rinsed away some of the sunscreen.

"Dylan!"

The car door was already opened when he heard Sarah's voice behind him. He grabbed sunglasses from the dashboard and jammed them on his face before turning to greet her.

She and Dana sat with the blond women, and Dylan wondered how he had failed to notice them before. They stood out from the other women like the only sweet apples in a bushel of sour green ones. Sarah stood up and waved.

"Did Nick send you send you to pick me up?" she asked loudly as she approached him, Dana trotting along behind her. As soon as she passed the table and her back was to the women, her eyes grew wide and her smile strained. "That was so sweet of you. _Say yes,_" she hissed when she was close enough.

He took a breath to speak and regretted it. The fumes from the mustard seed burned his lungs and he coughed.

"Yes," he choked out. "Sure, get in."

One of the blonds leaned over to a pinch-faced woman and whispered, "Didn't she drive?" The pinch-faced woman smirked then cocked her head curiously. Her nostrils flared and she seemed to smell the air.

"Thank you," Sarah said once the doors were closed.

"Sweet ride," Dana chirped from the back.

"Buckle up, hon. Really, Dylan. Thanks."

He started the motor and cleared his throat before speaking, his lungs still burning.

"What was the emergency?"

"Oh, those women. The meeting was over, but I couldn't get away. They're so…" She held her hands up and closed her eyes. "You know what? Doesn't matter." Her hands slapped down onto her knees and she smiled ruefully. "My car's around the corner. If you just drop me there, I will owe you big time."

"Sure."

"Hey, are you okay? Your face looks a little red."

"Allergies."

"Oh, you know, I might have a Claritin." She dug through her purse. "Dana's got it bad. Pollen, cats, dogs, you name it."

"Mom!"

"It's alright," he assured her. "I just took one. It'll kick in any moment."

"So, what brings you down here on a Sunday? There's not much open."

"Yeah, we roll the streets up on Friday. I was looking for Devon, actually. Claire's not feeling well, and I thought…" He shrugged.

"Nosebleed, huh?"

Dylan gave her a surprised look.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"Nick told me she got them. You know, Dana used to –"

"Mom!"

"Oh. Right," he laughed, relieved. "Sarah, you wouldn't happen to know where Devon lives, do you?"

"No, but I've got her number, if you want to give her a call." She fished her phone out of the purse.

"No, on second thought, I'd better not bother her on a weekend. It can wait another day."

"Oh, okay. That's me." She pointed at an SUV in front of a closed book store. "Thanks again."

Dylan let Sarah and Dana out, waved good-bye, and drove home.

* * *

Mia watched the black sedan pull away from across the street.

"He's gone," she said. "He didn't even look over here."

Andie peeked over the tabletop. She had ducked and pretended to be fussing with her backpack as soon as the man had stepped out of his car.

"Are you sure that's the guy?" Mia asked.

"Yeah. Pretty sure. Why?"

"'Cause that's Dylan Radcliff. I baby-sit for him. Oh, and your boyfriend's mom just got in the car with him."

"What?" Andie jumped up from the table, startling her friend, and ran to the street, searching for the car as if she might be able to see inside it, but it had already turned the corner. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet and shook her hands.

"Andie? You okay?"

"Oh, my God. I have to call Charlie." She ran back to the table and bent over her bag, this time searching it in earnest.

"What are you going to say? Your mom just willingly got in a car? Oooh, spooky."

"Mia, that guy was seriously creepy." She found the phone but could not hold it in her hands. It dropped and even when she picked it up her fingers twitched and she could not press the buttons in the right order. She stopped and took a deep breath. What was wrong with her? She had been anxious and jumpy all day. She glanced up at her friend to see if she had noticed, but her attention was across the street.

"So are the Stepford Wives," Mia was saying. She nodded at the blond women who were just standing up from their meeting. "No law against that. The Radcliffs are a little funny, but their kid's cool and they pay good." She squinted at the spa and stood. "Be right back."

"Mia?" Andie followed her friend across the street, crossing her arms and gripping them tight to stop her hands from shaking. "What are you doing?"

Mia stopped at the spa's door and looked left and right. Andie's foot scraped on something gritty and she jumped like she had been electrocuted. Both girls looked down.

"Somebody must've spilled something," Andie guessed.

Mia collected a few of the black specks in her palm and looked at them closely.

"What is it?" Andie asked.

"Seeds. Greens or something. Maybe mustard." She shrugged and brushed the seeds off her palm.

"How do you know that?"

"You know how Mom makes everything from scratch?"

Andie rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you have _told_ your mom about grocery stores, right?" she asked. "I mean, she is aware of them."

"Hey, I'd take Mom's mustard sauce over French's any day." Mia gasped. "Oh, crap. I forgot! I'm supposed to help Mom with baking today." She checked her phone. "Oh, man. She called me twice. Hey, you want to come help? There's homemade baked goods in it for you."

"Nah. I think I'm just going to go home."

"Oh, come on. If I bring home someone for Mom show her skills off to, it's like a get out of jail free card."

"I've seen your mom's skills, and have been duly amazed by them, but I'm tired." She shook her head. "I need to take a nap or something."

Mia chewed her lip and gave her an assessing look.

"Andie, is something wrong?"

"What? What would be wrong?" She tried to laugh, but it came out shrill.

"You've been way jumpy today."

"Oh…" Andie unconsciously hunched her shoulders. "Sorry."

"Is it those pills?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Sucks. What do you take them for, again?"

"A thyroid thing…" she muttered, and looked at the ground.

"Does Mom know they make you jittery?"

"Yeah. I talked to her. I have to keep taking them, though. It's way worse when I don't."

"If you say so."

Mia gave her a concerned look, and Andie tried to reassure her before they parted and she biked home. A few blocks from her house, Andie had to stop and walk because she could no longer steer the bike. Once home, she trudged up the stairs, dropped her backpack at her door and plopped face down on the bed, trying to simply breath and will her body to relax. After a few minutes she stood up again, pulled her laptop out of her backpack and took it back to the bed. Opening it, she pulled up her web browser and in the search field typed "aphasia." Blue light illuminated the growing horror on her face as she read.

* * *

The Muellers had chosen for themselves one of the smallest houses in the Gates. Even so, it still felt palatial to Peg. When she arrived in the community, she brought with her several heirloom pieces of furniture that, judging by their worn and scarred state, had been in the family for generations. She finished off the house with antiques that "spoke to her," as she would say to Mia when she stumbled across another item in a shop. The house was filled with knick-knacks and no surface was free of them. They were arranged in no discernible order so that a Hindu statue might share shelf space with a glass giraffe which itself served as a bookend to the collected works of Dostoevsky. Despite the clutter, the house was never dusty or untidy, but it did cause the place to seem smaller than it actually was and guests tended to unconsciously clasp their hands together for fear of knocking something over.

Mia cruised into the driveway and jumped off the bike, letting it clatter to the pavement as she ran for the door. Sweat gelled on her skin when she hit the cool air inside and breathed deep. The house smelled wonderfully of baking bread.

"Mom?" she called.

"In the kitchen!" Peg answered. Mia found her there, pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven. "You, young lady, were supposed to help me. See if you get any pie."

"You made pie?"

"Yep. And if you play your cards right, I might even let you have a slice." Peg pulled faded green oven mitts off and set them on the counter before giving her daughter the look that always made her squirm. "Where were you?"

"I'm really sorry. Andie and I were studying and I lost track of time."

"How is Andie doing?"

"I think the meds are getting her down. She's all twitchy and she had her book upside down for, like, ten minutes before she noticed." Mia moseyed over to a short bookshelf that stood against a wall shared by the kitchen and the living room and picked up an old Big Chief tablet with a cracked spine that had been wedged in between Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamozov.

"Well, at least she's taking them."

"What's she taking them for, again?"

"Mia, you know I can't tell you that. Confidentiality."

"Right." Mia flipped through the pages of the notebook. It was filled with fading ink sketches of plants and fungi, with notes in the spaces around the sketches, a hand-written field guide to all things herbal.

"Looking something up?" With the tip of one finger, Peg pulled the top of the book down and peered at it upside down.

"Mustard greens."

"You probably won't find it in there. It's not used in herbalism." She shrugged and walked back to her bread to sniff it critically. "At least, not that I know of."

"Devon had mustard seeds out by her door. They good luck or something?"

"No…" Peg's nail made a hollow sound on the bread as she tapped it thoughtfully. "Did anybody else notice it?"

"Well, Andie was there. And—" Mia frowned and cocked her head, thinking of Dylan Radcliff and what Andie had said about him.

"What?" her mother asked. She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms. "Whatever it is, tell me. It might be important. You never know."

"Well, Dylan Radcliff was there. I don't think he saw me, though. He drove up to the spa and took, like, two steps up to it before he backed up off it like that time someone set a smoke bomb off in the girls' locker room at school."

"That's interesting."

"Thing is, Andie told me she saw him the night before, and he creeped her out."

"How so?"

"I dunno. She said his eyes were weird, and he just… I don't know… creeped her out. Anyway, you said to tell you if Devon did anything unusual, so." Mia shrugged.

"Thanks, Mia." Peg smiled at her. "I think you've earned yourself some pie."

"Woo-hoo!"

"But you are going to pick up the kitchen, too."

Mia made a face and surveyed the room. The sink overflowed with mixing bowls and spoons, all crusted over with drying dough. Flour, sugar, and spices dusted the counter tops.

"Better get started," Peg called, on her way out of the kitchen. "I want to figure out what this mustard business is about."

* * *

Emily peddled her skateboard out of the way as her father pulled into the driveway. She rushed to the grass to scoop up a pink and white helmet where it lay abandoned.

"I saw that," Dylan chided her. "You're supposed to be wearing it."

"It looks dorky," she said and looked forlornly down at the helmet.

"Put it on," he ordered. He gave her a stern look as he opened the front door. Emily jammed it onto her head in a huff and crossed her arms. Dylan tried not to laugh. It was pretty dorky.

It was refreshingly dark inside. Claire had come downstairs to pace and now rushed up to him, eager for news.

"Did you find her?"

"No. She was at her shop, but by the time I got there, she'd put mustard seed out front, and there were witnesses anyway. I couldn't get in."

"Mustard seed!" Claire gasped, horrified. "Oh!" She paced away, her arms stiff and hands clenched. She paused for a moment, almost shaking with pent up emotion, then turned and rushed him. She shoved him hard, surprising him and slamming him into the wall before backing off and glaring at him from under lowered eyebrows. He stared back with narrowed eyes.

For several seconds, they stood motionless, tension crackling and heat growing between them. Then Dylan spun and marched to the door. He yanked it open and called outside.

"Emily, why don't you ride your bike over to Dana's? She should be home."

"Okay!" Emily grabbed her skateboard and ran for the garage and her bicycle.

He closed the door and leaned his back against it, watching his wife. Claire stood in the same spot, wild dark hair around her face and shoulders and her white silk nightgown clinging to her hips. Her eyes were big, black and furious. She was feral and beautiful. Dylan felt his own teeth grow and his pupils dilate.

Slowly, deliberately, he took off his jacket and tossed it on the couch, never taking his eyes from her. He rushed at her all at once, taking her by surprise. Hooking an arm around her waist, he threw her against the island in the kitchen then pressed her into it with his whole body. The granite counter ground into her back and she grunted in pain. A chair crashed to the floor.

"Is this what you want?" he asked her. Before she could answer, he kissed her hard, pressing her lips against teeth until he tasted blood while with one hand he started to pull up the skirt of her nightgown. She twisted and got a leg up high enough to kick him away and onto the floor. He was on his feet again in an instant.

He let her take her fury out on him, understanding her need to release it somehow. They played and made love violently. Claire was not up to her usual strength and Dylan was as gentle with her as their game allowed. They ended in a heap on the hard kitchen floor, bruised, bleeding, and thoroughly satisfied. They had lost their clothes somewhere along the way and she lay on top of him, licking a spot on his shoulder where she'd bitten him. When she was done she lay down and nestled her head under his chin.

"Better?" he asked.

"Mm. Much."

"I'll get her for you," he promised her. He traced the outline of a deep purple bruise on her hip that was swiftly fading, and he very nearly fell asleep right there on the floor.

"She did something," Claire said after a long silence. "I don't know what it was, but she did _something_. I think she's a witch."

Dylan laughed. "A witch? Oh, come on. She's a shopkeeper with too much information."

"She's a witch, Dylan." She sat up enough for him to see her face.

"Where's her broomstick, then?" he chuckled.

"I'm being serious," she said. He saw that he had offended her and tried to hide his smile. "She's got the evil eye or something."

"Claire."

"My Aunt Edna was one."

"Your aunt what?"

"She was! Listen. My cousin got his girlfriend pregnant, and Aunt Edna thought she'd done it on purpose just so he would marry her, so one day Aunt Edna got so mad at her that she pointed at the girl and said 'That baby will die before it's born!' And she miscarried that night!"

"Oh, for god's sake." He laughed and sat up, pushing her off of him.

"It's true! My mother was there and she saw it."

"Coincidence." He found his pants and pulled them on. "There are no witches, no goblins, no devils, it's all make-believe."

"That's easy for you to say. You didn't know Aunt Edna."

They argued back and forth about witches and the evil eye all the way upstairs until they fell into bed to sleep the rest of the day away. Claire awoke twice, once when Emily came home, and once to the buzzing of her phone on the nightstand. Groggily, she reached for it. Somebody had texted her.

"RED DOOR TONIGHT? – C" it read.

"What is it?" Dylan muttered.

"Nothing. I missed a committee meeting today."

"Mm."

She sent back the message, "NO," and turned the phone off.


	6. Long Night, Bad Day

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Six: Long Night, Bad Day

It was almost midnight by the time Nick came to pick up Dylan. He waited impatiently in the car for the vampire to appear. He had managed to slip out without waking Sarah, and didn't want to push his luck by staying out too late. They would have to drive into Franklin as it was anyway.

He had the phone in his hand to call again when the front door finally opened.

"What, did you take a shower?" he said as Dylan sat and closed the door.

"Wonderful, thank you. And how are you?"

"Let's get this over with," Nick muttered and pulled out into the street.

Eddie waved them through the gate and the night closed in around the SUV. Trees flashed by in the glow from the headlights and now and again eyes from some small creature blinked at them from the edge of the road. There were no streetlights out here, and Nick slowed. Dylan leaned over, craned his neck to see the speedometer and shook his head disapprovingly at him.

"We'll never get there at this rate," he said.

"Hey, how many car wrecks have you written reports for? Some of us aren't going to live forever." Nick glanced over at him. "And buckle up."

"Well, I think you can go a little faster than that."

Nick didn't respond. A white shape flashed past mere yards in front of the headlights, followed by two more. He slammed on the breaks and the SUV fishtailed to a stop, barely missing the last animal to cross the road. Dylan gave a surprised yelp.

"And you call me immature," he complained. He had been thrown sideways into the corner of the dashboard and the door and now settled himself back in the seat.

"Those weren't deer," Nick said. He peered out through his window, but could see nothing beyond the first line of trees. Dylan opened his door and stood on the running board. His eyes were black when he ducked back into the cab, but he pressed his palms to his face for a moment and when he looked up, they were their usual dark blue.

"Those were wolves," he announced. "Didn't know we had those."

"You can see out there?"

"No, I'm just making it up." He buckled his seatbelt and made a sweeping gesture at the road ahead – _After you._ "Next time I drive."

Nick ran a still-shaky hand through his hair.

"Yeah, well, there might not be a next time," he said.

"How do you mean?"

"I called a friend who works in Miami about a spot on homicide there. She says she's got one."

"What, is our sleepy little suburb too fast-paced for you? You have to go to Miami to slow down?"

Nick kept his eyes on the road, but he wished he could see Dylan's face. The man sounded almost offended.

"Yeah, something like that."

They drove in silence for a while, then Dylan said, "There are more vampires in Miami than there are here, you know."

"And yet somehow, I've got just as many murder cases here as I would have there. Something's wrong with this place and I don't want Sarah and the kids around it."

"I told you we wouldn't hurt you."

"You're just part of it. I hadn't been here a month before you killed someone in front of me. And here I am a week later with what looks like a vampire attack."

"That might not be coincidence, Nick."

"What's that mean?" His suspicion started to rise. Was there something else Dylan was hiding from him?

"I've seen it before. You find out about us, and now all of a sudden you start seeing vampires everywhere. We're actually not that common, and the odds are your killer is some psychologically disturbed person with an ice pick or false teeth or something."

"Yeah, maybe." Nick hoped to hell he was right.

They pulled into the parking lot of a low-slung brick building. Franklin was a small city but was still the biggest thing going in the county, so it housed the medical examiner's office. Nick used a key card to open the door and they slipped quietly in. Their shoes clicked and echoed in the darkness of the main hallway. Nick fumbled out a flashlight, but Dylan walked ahead confidently, peeking into doors here and there. Nick had to call him back from down the hall into the right room.

What had until recently been Barbara Jansen lay on a trolley in a big walk-in freezer. The full autopsy would be performed tomorrow. The freezer was a tight fit for all three of them, so Nick pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and wheeled her out into the examination room. He pulled the sheet off of her face as respectfully as he could and pointed out the wounds in question on her neck.

Dylan gave him a questioning look and pointed at the body. "May I?"

"Hang on." He tossed another pair of gloves to Dylan, who pulled them on. Nick watched, fascinated as he leaned into the neck and breathed it in deeply, scenting it. He frowned and smelled the spot again, then stood. Flipping the sheet off, Dylan examined the rest of her. He picked her arm up and looked at the bruise-like coloration on the underside of it where the remaining blood in her body had pooled, then let it thunk back onto the table. Nick stepped forward to protest when he pulled her legs apart and started poking at her groin.

"Hey, you can let the ME do that."

"There are old bite marks here." He straightened and threw the sheet back over the body. Nick gave him a disapproving look and straightened it.

"What about the ones on her neck?"

"You're right. This is definitely a vampire bite. So are the marks on her groin."

"The report didn't mention any other bites."

"They're old and might have been overlooked. The newest one's weeks old at least. But this wasn't a feeding, or if it was, it was botched badly. There's still blood in the body."

"Okay, so why would she have old bite marks on her groin?" Nick finished fixing the sheet and wheeled the body back into the freezer exactly as he had found her. Dylan leaned back against a counter at the far end of the room.

"Well, there are blood vessels there, and it's easier to conceal. She also probably wouldn't be looking too closely at the bite."

"You mean a vampire bit her and let her go?"

"Yes. More than once." He frowned perplexedly. "Maybe he changed his mind."

"Or maybe there's more than one."

Dylan considered that, then walked purposefully over to the freezer and entered. He emerged a minute later to resume his position leaning against the counter.

"I think you're right. The older bites are smaller," he announced.

"Maybe a woman?"

"Maybe." Dylan peeled the gloves off his hands. "Where did you find her?"

"She was in a dumpster behind a bar called the Red Door. Heard of it?"

"No. Anything else?"

"I interviewed her acquaintances, her ex, her business partner. They didn't tell me much. They did refer to her as a 'free spirit' more than once, though."

"Nick, I want you to let me take care of this."

"No way."

"Look, Franklin is more or less my territory, though I've never actually hunted it. If someone is hunting here, I can deal with it."

"I'm not going to just drop a murder investigation, and neither is Franklin PD."

"Okay, listen. You don't know much about us, so I'll let you in on this at least." He gestured to himself. "I am the tree-hugging hippie of the vampire community. I have a kid and a job. If you think I'm dangerous and prone to violence, then you don't want to know what the others are capable of. And if I had to guess, I'd say this was done by a young vampire, which makes it that much more…" He searched for a word, finally settling on, "Unpredictable."

"What makes you say that?"

"She's bruised and scratched, so he had to fight her. There's still blood in the body, so he evidently killed her too quickly and the heart stopped. And the fact that he didn't even bother to hide his bite marks makes me think he's cocky, still riding the high."

"The high?"

"It's a rush to suddenly be so strong and nearly invincible. You'd be surprised how many vampires die from sheer stupidity early on."

"I take it a more experienced vampire wouldn't leave such an obvious trail." Nick nodded at Dylan, obviously implicating him. The vampire looked back at him steadily.

"If you've got something to ask, ask it," he said.

"How many people have you killed?"

"Before or after I died?"

Nick shook his head quizzically.

"I was in the war," he elaborated.

"Which one?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Dylan gave him a smug smile.

"Okay, how many people have you killed for food?"

"I don't know. I never counted."

"Ballpark?"

"What does it matter? You won't like any answer I give you. We're hunters. Predators. How many pigs, chickens and steers have you been the death of?"

"That's different, and you know it."

"Of course it is. We don't cage you up and slaughter you by the hundreds." Dylan sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Look, I've had this conversation before. I'll tell you the result if you want to hear it. From your perspective, what I've done is inexcusable. From mine, it's justifiable. Let's just hope the cows don't gang up on us and put us all on trial."

"That doesn't exactly make me feel better."

"Then how's this? I haven't hunted in years and I don't plan to as long as Emily's around."

Nick considered pursuing it – _And after that?_ But he didn't. He reminded himself that Dylan was helping him out on this case, and that he was dependent on him for information.

"So let's say I left this to you," Nick said, changing the subject. "What would you do?"

"I'd hunt down the poacher and teach him a lesson he won't soon forget."

"Kill him?"

"No, I'd probably beat him within an inch of his life and dump him at the edge of my territory with a hearty 'Fuck off'."

Nick was not sure what to think about that. It left the murdering vampire alive to kill again. But then again, Nick had been having second thoughts about eye-for-an-eye after the incident with Teresa. Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Dylan spoke up.

"Would you prefer I killed him?" he asked.

"Would you do it if I asked you do?" Nick held up a hand. "No, don't answer that. Pretend I never said it."

"Alright," he agreed and pushed away from the counter. "It's late and I have a presentation in…" he checked his watch. "Oh, seven hours. And I didn't even get to work on it yesterday. I'll take care of this tomorrow."

"What if he kills someone else tonight?"

"If he ate yesterday, it's unlikely he'll hunt again tonight. And I wouldn't care to place odds on myself tonight anyway. I need to get more sleep."

"How's Claire?"

"Better."

"What happened?"

"Would you believe a nosebleed?"

Nick laughed, not sure if he was telling the truth or stonewalling again. They drove home without incident and Nick crept into his own house through the back door, having left the SUV in the driveway to avoid opening the garage.

"Where'd you go?"

He jumped and spun around. Dana stood at the sink, the harsh orange light from the street illuminating her and the glass of water in her hands.

"Jeez, Dana," he complained.

"Sorry. I thought you were in bed."

"Speaking of which, what are you doing up this late?"

Dana held up her water glass and gave him a _duh_ expression. "What were you doing?" she asked.

"It's just some police stuff. Marcus called…"

"Uh-huh. Does Mom know he called?"

"Go to bed."

"I thought so." She plunked the glass down on the counter and crossed her arms. "You know how I asked about the Jansen case at dinner?"

"What? Oh, come on. Are you blackmailing me?"

"It's just a week's worth of dishes."

"Two days."

"Five, and I'll put the clean ones away."

"Fine. Now go to bed."

"Nice doing business with you." Dana grinned and went upstairs. Nick shook his head disbelievingly. Where had they gone wrong?

He slipped into bed beside his wife. Sarah sighed and rolled over, opening one eye.

"Can't sleep?" she muttered.

"Yeah, I went to watch some TV downstairs."

"Liar," she chuckled. Nick froze, glad his back was to her. "You went over that case again, didn't you?"

His shoulder's relaxed. "Got me," he said. She threw an arm around his waist and fell asleep again.

* * *

Dylan told Claire about Barbara Jansen on Monday morning over tea.

"What are you going to do?" Claire asked, stunned.

"I'll go hunting tomorrow night. I'm exhausted as it is."

"Did you get any more sleep when you got back last night?"

"A little."

"Good luck on the presentation."

As soon as she saw Emily and Dylan off at the front door, Claire pulled her phone out. The first time she called, it went to voicemail but she tried again. This time the ringing stopped, but was followed immediately by a muffled thud and distant swearing. She paced.

"Hello?" a groggy voice said after a few seconds.

"Christian! What the _hell_ did you do?"

"Wha – Claire? What are you talking about? Do you know what time it is? It's like, ten in the morning."

"Eight-thirty, actually."

"Damn, you keep a weird schedule."

"Christian, Barbara Jansen is dead. I told you to leave it alone."

"Wait, what? That woman from the other night? I didn't do anything to – Oh, is that what was going on? The club was closed last night."

"Yes!"

"Claire, I swear. I didn't do anything to her. You said you would take care of it, so I left it to you. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what we have."

"'What we have'? We don't –" Claire put a hand out as if Christian were in the room with her. "Okay, Dylan thinks it's some freshly turned fledgling on a romp. If it wasn't you, he might be right. Dylan's going to track him down in a couple of days, but… Christian, there's a policeman here who knows more than he should. Be careful."

"I will. When will I see you again? The Red Door's closed for now, but there's another—"

"I don't know, Christian." Claire sat down and leaned her forehead on her free hand. Her words might have been a simple answer to a simple question, but something in her tone told them both that it was not the case. She thought of Barbara's last words to her.

"Claire…"

"This isn't – I can't keep doing this, hiding things from Dylan and… and there's Emily…" Oh, this was hard. She knew it was coming, had known for some time, maybe since the first time she had seen Christian and failed to tell her husband about it. But that did not make it easier. He said he loved her, that he had tried to forget about her but couldn't. He said he knew she was unhappy, and no matter how she insisted to him that she was, she knew in her heart that he was right. In the end, she told him not to call again and hung up. He called again, of course, immediately, but only once and she did not answer.

Claire moped around the house by herself for the rest of the morning. When she finally dressed, her blouse hung loosely on her, and her skirt drooped. She drank three times as much blood as she normally would, but it did not seem to make any difference. She stepped on the bathroom scale and gaped. She had actually lost weight since last night. What in the world had that witch done to her? When she tried to think about anything specific Devon had said or done, the sickening smell of lilies wafted into her face, dizzying her. As she stared in disbelief at the scale, she felt a welcome welling of anger at Devon come to wash away the lingering guilt and heart-sickness over Christian.

"Oh, that is _it_!" she yelled to the room.

She rushed to slather sunscreen on, combed her hair and grabbed her purse. Claire Radcliff did not sit still and wait for her opponent's next move, oh, no. She drove over to Dr. Mueller's office, careful to take the long way around to avoid Devon's spa. She was not afraid of the woman; she just did not want the witch to know anything about her activities.

Three blond women approached from across the street as she pulled into a spot under the sign reading "Dr. Mueller, M.D., General Practitioner." She thought about just staying in the car until the women passed, but one of them recognized her and waved. Now she would have to get out or have gossipy speculation follow her around all week about why she did not greet them as old friends.

She stepped to the curb and said a polite "Hello," as they passed. A short, plump woman leaned into another's ear and whispered loud enough that Claire guessed she was intended to hear it.

"It's sad how some women will starve themselves," the woman said. "It sets such a bad example for little girls."

Claire spun on her heel. "What was that about needing a tampon, Charlotte?" she asked sweetly. The women stopped and turned as one. Charlotte glowered at her and opened her mouth to retort, but the tallest woman put a hand on her arm and stepped between them.

"Claire," she said. "We missed you at the committee meeting yesterday. Sarah Monahan had some wonderful ideas for our fundraiser. But then Dylan came to pick her up early. They seemed very friendly. I didn't know they knew each other."

Claire took a step forward, closer to the woman now than was strictly polite. The woman's nostrils flared and she narrowed her eyes. "Karen, I don't think you –"

"Claire!" Peg called cheerfully from the shaded doorway of her practice. "I thought I saw your car."

Karen gave Claire a sour smile and as if on cue, the three women turned and walked away. Peg stood behind her and watched them go.

"Mia calls them the Stepfords," she said. Claire snorted laughter, surprised to find it in her to laugh today. "Were you coming in or passing by?" she continued.

"Coming in. I need to talk to you about Devon." She stopped and choked on the thick scent of lilies. Peg put a steadying hand under her elbow.

"Claire? Are you okay?" The doctor looked her over, noting her gaunt figure for the first time. "You're looking a little… Here, why don't you come in?" Peg tugged on her arm and she followed passively, hardly knowing where she was going. The sun had grown brighter and nearly blinded her until they reached the door of the office. Inside, she was handed off to a nurse, who shuffled her down a hall and into an examination room. The nurse left and Claire sat heavily in a chair in the corner and gulped back bile. Slowly the heavy flowery smell dissipated and she leaned back, tired again.

Peg reappeared minutes later, a clipboard under her arm and a glass jar filled with rolled green leaves in her hand. She put the jar down by the sink in the corner and patted the top of the examination table.

"Why don't you come up here?" she said. Claire complied. "How do you feel?"

"Dizzy. Nauseous."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"Since last night."

"You said something about Devon?"

"Um…" Her head was pounding. She pinched the bridge of her nose. What had Devon to do with anything?

"Mm-hm," Peg said decisively. "Claire, I want you to keep thinking about Devon for just a minute." She ran to the jar and pulled out a broad green leaf. Unrolling it, she thrust it under Claire's mouth. "Spit," she commanded. Baffled, Claire obeyed and spat onto the leaf. "Okay. You can relax. Rest here for as long as you need to, and I'll get the results back by tomorrow. You can go home whenever you feel like you can drive." She left the room with the leaf and the jar in a swirl of white coat, rather quickly for the usually supremely professional doctor, Claire thought.

* * *

Peg waited until she returned home after a busy day at her practice to unroll the broad leaf and lay it on the kitchen counter. She called to Mia, who was up in her room, probably on the phone.

"Mia! Get Gigi's old frying pan out of the attic. I'm going to show you something."

The thump-thump of hurried steps and a muffled "'Kay!" showed that Mia had heard. Peg looked down at the leaf and her brow creased in unease. Mia was always eager to learn whatever Peg wanted to teach her, and it normally never would have occurred to Peg not to show her daughter what she was doing. In her experience, hiding things from family always turned into disaster, one way or another. Still, there was the nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, she should keep Mia out of this one. Not for many years had she felt a spell so malicious as the one rolling off of Claire. From all the way inside the building, it had made Peg's shoulders hunch defensively, and she had been eager to get Claire and the spell clinging to her far, far away. In the end, tradition won out and Peg accepted the ancient, black, cast iron frying pan Mia handed her, and they set to work.


	7. Noblesse Oblige

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys. I promise I've got chapters ready for the next several weeks (updated on Fridays, of course). I know the show's over, but I'm hanging in here 'til this story is complete, so even if there's a delay getting the next chapter out, just keep checking back. It'll be posted eventually.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed! They're always so wonderfully inspiring :)

* * *

Chapter Six: Noblesse Oblige

It was dark when Dylan left the office. He had taken a long lunch and gone back to the Gates to run an errand, though he did not go to the house. He considered simply going home and staying there, but the head of his engineering department called and scuttled his plan to make a half day of it. He was dead tired, no pun intended, and had every intention of going home and crawling in to bed for about the next twelve hours. That is, until he stopped for gas on the way out of Franklin and picked up the faint scent of vampire on the breeze, musty and snake like over the methane stink of the gas station. He looked at the car, then out at the cityscape, bright as noon to him under a waxing moon, then back at the car. Suddenly he felt a lot less tired.

After ditching the car in a nearby restaurant parking lot, Dylan took to the street and followed his nose. He had to find the scent again, and circled the gas station and surrounding buildings in a widening loop until he caught it. It felt _good_ to be hunting again, and he almost left off so that he could bring Claire back here, but decided against it. The trail might be cold by the time he got back and Claire needed to rest.

The vampire had to be nearby, that or this was one of his frequent stomping grounds, otherwise it was unlikely Dylan could have picked up the scent so easily. A shabby apartment building dominated a neighborhood block behind the gas station, and the smell was stronger here. Dylan eased into the entrance, a doorless opening, but felt none of the resistance he would at entering a home without an invitation. Apartment buildings were funny that way, sometimes keeping him out, other times not.

He strolled down brightly lit hallways, passing residents on their way in or out. Muffled TVs and voices carried a short way down the halls only to fade and be replaced by the noise of the next unit. He walked close by the doors, his shoulder almost brushing the walls, first one way up the hall, then the other way down it, at every door feeling the little push against him as he passed that meant it was occupied by humans, not a vampire.

On the second floor he found it. An open door led into a darkened apartment half way down the hallway, and Dylan was able to slip without difficulty into the shabbily furnished living room. Beer cans and pizza boxes littered the stained carpet and a scarred coffee table. The vampire smell was concentrated here, mixing unpleasantly with the smell of a litter box, and what was more, the soft sounds of movement came from a bedroom to his right. He crept across the untidy living room to a short hallway. In the first bedroom, a familiar figure was shuffling through a stack of papers on a desk, his back to the door.

Dylan cleared his throat and Christian whirled around, black-eyed and snarling, ready to fight. He checked himself when he saw Dylan's laughing face and returned the smile.

"Dylan!"

"Christian. I take it this isn't your flat." He glanced around the room. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents spilled across the floor. He picked a pair of women's underwear off the floor. "It seems a little feminine. Although there was that time in Berlin…"

"Hey, you said you'd never talk about that again." Christian pulled on the lapels of his jacket and smoothed the front of his shirt.

"Right, okay. So." Dylan flipped the panties across the room. "Been hunting?"

"What?" He gave a little start that seemed almost guilty.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kick you out of the territory. I assume you're not the one that left the dead woman in a dumpster with the flashing neon 'a vampire did it' sign on her neck."

Christian relaxed.

"Hey, this is your territory?" he asked and gave Dylan a playful punch on the arm. "I don't believe it."

"Yeah, who'd have guessed." He nodded at the room. "Did you find anything useful?"

"What, like a forwarding address? Nah, I just got here a few minutes ago. Nobody's home."

"Hm." Hands behind his back, Dylan strolled through the living room again and into the little kitchen, leaving Christian to continue ransacking the bedroom. "We could just wait for him to come home," he said, confident that his friend could hear him in the other room.

"Yeah, if you don't mind the cat box. Hey, see if there's anything to drink."

Dylan rifled through cabinets and found only a store-brand bottle of liquor.

"Cheap vodka," he announced.

"Meh, any port in a storm. Check the fridge for beer."

Dylan did, and swore.

"Christian! Stop what you're doing. I found the owner of those pants."

"You know what's funny? That's not the first time I've heard you say that."

Christian appeared behind him and whistled. The refrigerator was small, with barely enough room to fit the woman's body inside, even considering that the killer had broken a few of her bones to do it.

"Hey, you found the beer, too." Christian reached in to grab one of several bottles that had been wedged under the woman's leg and opened it with a key from the ring in his pocket.

"Did anyone see you come in?" Dylan asked.

"Well, yeah, I was wandering all over the building." He took a thoughtful pull from the bottle and leaned back against the kitchen counter. "You think they keep fingerprints on file for twenty years?"

Dylan gave him a blank look, then his face cleared. "Oh! Reno."

"Yeah. Helluva a night."

Dylan closed the fridge, pulled a dishrag off the counter, and held it out to Christian, who was already digging under the sink for some sort of cleaning fluid. They went to work wiping down everything they had touched. Christian closed and locked the front door while Dylan checked the freezer and found the cat.

"We could still ambush him when he comes back," Christian said when they were done. An authoritative pounding on the door cut off Dylan's answer.

"Miss Ackerman? Franklin Police Department. We got a report of a break in."

The vampires were out the window before the police could get the door open. They pelted down the alley behind the building, jumping fences and darting from shadow to shadow, slowing only when the flashing lights of the patrol cars were blocks behind them.

"Like old times," Christian laughed.

"Yeah, only without a warm meal at the end."

"What makes you say that? It's still early."

"You want to hunt for real?"

"Yeah, why not?" Christian spread his hands and shook his head then smiled invitingly and pointed at him. "Hey, you can pick the target."

It was tempting. It had been years since Dylan had felt the joy of the hunt and the warm satiation of a good kill. It would be fun. He shook his head.

"No, I can't."

"Oh, come on."

"No. There's already a poacher on the loose. What's going to happen if we start leaving bodies, too?"

"Absolutely nothing. We're rich now, remember? Rich people don't get arrested for tawdry little murders."

"I can't." He spread his hands and shrugged, hoping Christian would buy one of his excuses so they would not have to have the same old fight. "I've already got a policeman in the Gates breathing down my neck. It's too risky."

"A cop? He got something on you?"

Dylan winced. "It's a long story, but he might be close to figuring us out."

"Oh, for Christ's sake! A cop? Dylan, man, you gotta stop doing this."

"It was an accident."

"Yeah, sure. Just like last time."

"I know."

"It's a loose end, Dylan. They're trouble."

"I _know_."

"Look, I know you're still, _finding yourself_ or whatever, so why don't you just let me take him out? No one'll know I was there."

"No, he's… no. I'd rather you didn't."

Christian laughed derisively and shook his head at the stars overhead.

"This is what happens when you settle down in a territory. Any second now, you're gonna tell me I can't hunt here because I might nibble on someone you know."

"Actually…"

"_See_?" He threw his hands up in exasperation, though Dylan thought it was mostly false and just meant to tease him. "You're a disgrace to your kind and your class," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, I blame the parents." Dylan mocked, which earned him a shove off the sidewalk.

"Let me at least buy you a drink. An _alcoholic_ one," Christian specified as Dylan laughed and came to walk beside him again. "We should catch up. How's Claire doing?"

"You wouldn't recognize her. She cooks." He mimed a frying pan. "Which is good because I burn water and Emily's got to eat something." He checked his watch. It was getting late.

"Still got that kid, huh? You're such a soft touch."

"Look, I've got to take a rain check on that drink. I should go home. Claire's been…" He stopped. "Christian, do you believe in witches?"

Christian shrugged. "Saw a Blackfoot shaman turn himself into a coyote once. 'Course I was high as a kite at the time. Why?"

"Oh, nothing. Point of disagreement between Claire and myself."

"Oh yeah?"

"It's over now, anyway." Dylan pulled his phone out. "Give me your number. I'll text you our address. You should come over for dinner some time."

* * *

Brett Crezski sat across the table from his mother, Karen. The restaurant was crowded. The sounds of low conversation and the tinking of flatware and glasses were punctuated by a louder guffaw of laughter from one or another of the tables. Brett smiled and listened to his mother talk with real happiness in her voice, and reflected with sadness how rare it was to hear.

"… And when he left for a week of vacation, your father decided it was the perfect time to get him back for bubble wrapping his cubicle. So Walter got into your coach's office, took all the drawers out of his desk, turned the desk upside down, put all the drawers back in right side up, and then turned the desk over again so when he opened a drawer…"

"All the stuff would fall out, yeah, I remember that. He got, like, three of the football players to help him."

"Oh, and me. I don't remember how, but he roped me into it, too." Her smile turned a wicked as she continued, "You know Walter never admitted it, but it was my idea to put the alfalfa seeds into Zachary's keyboard and water them so they would sprout."

Brett raised his glass and said, "Happy birthday, Dad."

Karen did the same. It had become a tradition for mother and son to celebrate Walter Crezski's birthday by going out to dinner and reminiscing about the good times. The short birthday toast usually came at the very end of the night, after the check had been paid, when both would rise from the table and go home. Tonight Karen stayed in her seat and gazed steadily at her son long enough to make him uncomfortable. It was her alpha stare, the one she turned on for serious pack business. Brett thought he knew what was coming and lowered his eyes submissively.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoping to head her off. "I shouldn't have lied about going running."

Karen tipped her head quizzically.

"You shouldn't have gone running at all. But that's not what I was thinking of. Zachary and I have been talking."

"Coach Ross?" Brett frowned. Had Coach changed his mind, decided to let Brett back on the team?

"Yes. We both agree that the pack needs a real alpha. We've been alright with Simon for a long time, but now with you and Lukas running by yourselves and Simon being… Simon," she gritted her teeth when she said his name, "Well… It's time."

"But Simon is alpha."

"Simon is a drunk, and just because he has gone unchallenged does not mean he has been properly accepted. The only reason Zachary hasn't taken your father's place is out of respect for him. It's my fault, really. I should have brought it up to him a long time ago."

"Whoa, whoa." He put his hands up. "You're not really talking about… _dating_ Coach Ross are you?"

"Don't be naïve. As the accepted women's alpha, whoever I choose for a mate, within reason, will be the men's alpha. Zachary is fit for the position, and the pack will accept him."

"What about Simon?"

"He'll challenge, but we're expecting it. I think Simon has made enough enemies by now that the other men will be willing to step in if the fight goes against Zachary."

Brett nodded. He had not been accepted as fully adult yet, but he was still aware how many of the full fledged pack members had grudges against Simon for one thing or another. And then there were rumors about how he treated his wife and Lukas.

"I wanted to tell you about it, Brett, before we made any final decisions."

"What am I supposed to say? Do you love him?"

Karen gave him a patient smile.

"I like him and respect him," she said. "And that will do." She reached across the table and put her hand over his. "Brett, I want you to promise me something. When we have a real alpha pair, we can go running as a pack again. I won't say I'll ever like the idea of you putting yourself in danger that way, but at least you'll be better protected with the whole pack around you. Will you promise me not to go running until we have a true men's alpha again? Until we can all go?"

"Why can't we go now?"

"Politics," she said. "To run with Simon would be the same as accepting him, which is just another reason for you not to go. It makes me look bad."

"Mom…"

"What? You think the rest of us don't want to run? Grow up, Brett. You are your father's son, and you should act like it. He only ever ran with the pack because the pack was the most important thing to him. You might take his place some day, but not if you get yourself killed or act like you're unable to control yourself."

Brett dared to look up at her, ready to argue, to bite back, but he saw that despite the harsh tone of her voice, her face was pleading, and so he looked back down at his lap and muttered, "Okay."

"Good." She hesitated before adding, "Thank you, Brett."

They left the restaurant and walked into the parking lot. Brett spoke as Karen unlocked the car doors.

"Do I still have to go to the pack meeting?"

Karen opened the door and glanced up from her keys to give her son a look that said she was not going to dignify the question with an answer when her face changed and her gaze shifted to something behind Brett.

"Is that _Dylan_?" she asked.

Brett turned to look. Dylan Radcliff emerged from the tall bushes that separated the parking lot from the residential lots behind it, the knees of his pants dirty and his shirt wrinkled and untucked, in sharp contrast to his usually impeccable appearance. He pulled keys from his pocket and pointed them at a black sedan. Its lights flashed and Dylan climbed in the drivers seat, never noticing the two pairs of eyes watching him with open curiosity.

"He looks like _he's_ been running," Brett commented. Karen sniffed the air.


	8. Lies, Damned Lies and Statistics

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics

Dinner was strained at the Monahan house. Charlie and Nick were sullen and spoke little, eating mechanically and barely listening to Sarah's too-bright chatter about Dylan's timely rescue. Dana did her best to help her mother bring the men out of their mutual funk, but eventually even Sarah gave up and exclaimed in exasperation, "What is wrong with you two?"

Nick grunted. Charlie shrugged. Dana giggled.

"I know what's wrong with Charlie," she said, a mischievous light in her eye. "His girlfriend's a total spaz."

"Shut up," Charlie snapped at her.

"Dana," Sarah warned. She turned to Charlie. "Is something wrong with you and Andie?"

"No, it's fine."

"She left pretty quickly the other day when you two were studying."

"Mom, it's fine."

"Okay, okay." Sarah rolled her eyes. "But if you want to talk—"

"Okay, Mom!" Charlie's face was red with embarrassment and when Dana giggled again, he swiped his foot at her under the table. She stuck her tongue out at him when her parents weren't looking, which started a back and forth game of face making whenever Sarah and Nick turned away.

"Well, the teenager is a steel trap," Sarah said, turning to Nick. "So what's up with you?"

"I'm sorry," Nick said, and squeezed Sarah's hand. "Police stuff. What are you two laughing about?"

"Nothing," Charlie and Dana chorused.

"Okay Dana. Dishes," Sarah announced when everyone had finished eating.

Dana looked expectantly at Nick, who volunteered to do the dishes for her. While he stood at the sink, Sarah put the kettle on to boil. After the brief lift of mood at the end of dinner, Nick had relapsed into brooding silence. Sarah put her hands on his shoulders and started massaging.

"So seriously, what's wrong?" she asked.

A few yards away in the living room, Dana turned the TV's volume low and listened.

"Nothing," Nick said. "I'm just thinking too much about this case." He glanced over at the TV where Dana lay hidden by the back of the couch, and lowered his voice. "I'm starting to think the killer might be here in the Gates."

"Oh, my God. Do you have a suspect?"

"Got a short list. Hey, are you still spending time with Claire?"

"Not lately. She's been sick. Why?" The last word was pointed and came with raised eyebrows. Nick let out a short sigh.

"I don't know. She and Dylan, they're… I just don't know if they're people you should be spending time with."

"Nick! This is getting ridiculous," she laughed. The kettle whistled and she pulled a pretty paper bag out of the pantry and set the loose tea in a strainer in a mug. "You know what I think? They're reserved because they're British and you don't know how to handle that."

"No, that is not the problem."

"Sure," she continued as she poured steaming water into the mug. "You're used to your Chicago buddies, who think fart jokes are the funniest thing since Leno. Dylan's a little different, so you think there's something wrong with him." She crossed her arms and gave him a serious face. "Nick, the people here come from a different world than we do. They're… fine wine and hors d'oevres; we're beer and poker. It doesn't make them bad people."

"Alright," he said, admitting defeat. Nick picked up the bag of tea and studied the label. "Vine of the Soul," he read. "You know, Dylan thinks this is what made Claire sick. Sure you should drink it?"

"Really?" Sarah looked for a moment as if she would pour the tea out, but then shook her head. "No, I've been drinking this practically since we got here. It's fine."

Nick shrugged and finished the dishes while Sarah drank her tea. When she was done, she stood, stretched and went to their bedroom.

"Hey, Dana," he called.

"Hm?"

"When'd your mother start going to bed so early?"

"'Bout four days ago." Dana peeked over the back of the couch. "She's been going to bed earlier every night."

"Huh." Nick moved to follow her when his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. Dylan's name flashed on the caller ID. Scowling, he quickly stepped outside through the kitchen door and answered. "Asshole. You lied to me." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"Um…"

"You said there weren't any more vampires in the Gates."

Silence.

"I talked to Gloria Bennett again today. She's responsible for the bites on Jansen's groin. You told me – you _promised_ me you would tell me if there were other vampires around."

"No, I said I would tell you if your family was in danger. Gloria Bennett's a bunny rabbit. You can't seriously think she's a danger to you."

"What about the other people you visited today?"

"You followed me?"

"I had Eddie follow you."

"_Eddie_?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, God. Alright, yes. There are other vampires in the Gates. I couldn't give them away without a reason." He made a disgusted noise. "Just please don't tell anyone that _Eddie_ followed me about and I didn't notice."

"Afraid the other vampires will make fun of you?"

"Nick, ninety percent of the people living here are like you," he said, ignoring Nick's jab. "And the rest are just trying to live in peace like Claire and I. I've told you the truth about everything else."

"Really? Because I'm starting to think the killer might be living here in the Gates."

"No. Everyone has an alibi except Gloria, but the bite that killed Barbara was too big to be hers. Besides, no one here would leave a body behind like that."

"Says you."

"Look, I called because I found where the vampire was spending his days. Unfortunately there's another body. Franklin police have probably found it by now, but I wanted to let you know about it before you started suspecting me again. I think she's been dead for a day at least." He gave the address of the apartment complex. "I'll go looking again tomorrow night."

"Why not tonight?"

"Because I don't know where he's gone and the one place I might wait for him is crawling with police. Oh, have you looked into Devon?"

"I've been busy." His tone was meaner than he had intended and there was a long pause on the other end.

"Are you going to?" Dylan finally asked.

"I said I would and I will."

"Thank you." To Nick's surprise, he sounded like he really meant it.

* * *

Dana walked up to the last door on the right, the one decorated with police caution tape and the joke sign reading "Trespassers Will be Shot." Loud music blared from the room, barely muffled by the door. She cracked the door and peeked in before opening it fully. Charlie lay on the bed, reading, and only noticed his sister when she turned the stereo off.

"Get out, pint-size," he said without looking up.

"Mom's out again. I think it's the tea."

Charlie put the book down and sat up.

"What's Dad doing?" he asked.

"Yelling at someone on the phone. You said we'd do something if it keeps happening."

Charlie hesitated.

"Are you sure it's the tea?"

Dana closed the door and turned the music back on, lowering the volume enough that they could hear each other.

"Pretty sure," she said. "There's two confirmed incidents, yesterday and today. She drinks the tea and passes out."

"So?"

"So…" She shrugged. "I don't know. It's not like her."

"We just moved. She's probably stressed. Mom can go to bed early if she wants."

"I guess…" Dana was dubious. She wanted to get rid of the tea, but the idea of actually throwing Mom's stuff out was too far beyond what she was willing to even suggest, let alone _do_ without Charlie as an accomplice. She left his room unsatisfied and worried.

* * *

Emily was still up when Dylan came home, watching TV on the couch. He came up behind her and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"What are you watching?" he asked.

"Nick at Night. F Troop."

"Uh-huh. So that wasn't Hungarian accented dialog I heard from the garage?"

She frowned up at him, confused. He took the remote and pushed the button labeled "last". Bela Lugosi eyed the camera menacingly as it tracked through an underground vault and closed in on his face.

"He's from Hungary," Dylan explained. Emily made an _Oh! _face. "Did your mum say you could watch the movie channels?"

"Yeah."

He thought she looked awfully guilty for someone who had gotten permission, but he let it go and ruffled her hair.

"I'll watch it with you tomorrow, alright? God knows there are worse vampire movies out there. Where is Mum?"

"Asleep. She's been in bed since before I got home. Miss Sarah picked me up from school." She looked closely at him for the first time and frowned, taking in his rumpled clothes. "What happened?" Her eyes widened. "Did you, like, _attack_ a guy?"

"What? No! Go to bed."

"Have you ever attacked someone?"

"Okay, that is not a conversation I'm prepared to have with you tonight. Hang on." He spotted a bowl and spoon on the coffee table. "Did you have cereal for dinner?"

"Yeah. Mum was asleep and I didn't want to bug her."

"Not when you got to watch the movie channels, you mean."

Emily just looked at him. Something very close to guilt settled uncomfortably in the back of his head. He and Claire had more or less managed to bumble their way through raising a child, and he thought she had turned out all right so far, all things considered. Still, he was keenly aware at times like this that vampires made somewhat neglectful parents. Here he had been off running around Franklin on a lark with Christian while she had been watching horror movies well past her bedtime and eating cereal for dinner.

He sent her to bed, cleaned up the cereal bowl and spoon and was about to go up to bed himself when Claire's phone vibrated on the kitchen table. He picked it up with every intention of simply bringing it upstairs with him, but his finger slipped and hit the little button on the side and the text message flashed on the screen: THIRSTY? I SURE AM. – C. He had not meant to look down, really. It would have been prying, and he wanted to trust Claire, but the phone was right there in his hand and he glanced down before he thought about it.

For almost a minute he stood in the dark kitchen, confused and trying not to think too hard. Maybe C stood for… Crezski? Yeah, right. Did she know anyone named Carol? He hesitated but in the end he flipped the phone open and found the text inbox. All but the last two entries had been deleted. The first said RED DOOR TONIGHT? – C. The second: GOING CRAZY. NEED TO SEE YOU – C. Then he checked the phone number and the dates on the messages. _Christian_, he thought.

His stomach churned and he put the phone down. He did not remember climbing the stairs, and stood in the doorway of their room, his mind strangely blank. The first coherent idea to coalesce was, _It's not sex_. He would have smelled that on her. They must be hunting. That was the only other thing Christian could offer her. Anger and jealousy washed over him finally, setting his teeth on edge. He stalked to the bed where her sleeping form lay mounded under the covers, grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and shook.

"Claire!" When she failed to respond, he tried again, shaking her harder this time. She still would not wake. Suddenly he realized that she was not in her usual nightgown, but in a blouse, the kind she would wear to go out. "Claire?" He brushed the hair out of her face and the anger evaporated immediately, replaced by a panicky sort of fluttering in his chest where his heart used to beat. Her cheekbones jutted out over the dark hollows of her cheeks and when he pulled the covers off, he saw the rest of her body was just as emaciated, with stick limbs and bony, protruding joints.

"Claire? Wake up." He shook her again, more gently this time, but no matter what he did, she would not wake.


	9. That Voodoo You Do So Well

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Nine: That Voodoo You Do So Well

Devon picked her way awkwardly through the underbrush, a hurricane lantern in one hand and a big tote on the other shoulder. The lantern might actually have been more trouble than it was worth since it attracted so many flies and moths that she had to stop every few minutes and wave her arms to get the things out of her face. _Next time_, she thought, _I'm bringing a bug zapper_.

Her pace quickened when she caught sight of a pale flash between the trees. A white stone, just like the marionette creature had said. Devon dropped her tote bag on the ground and set the lantern up on a fallen log. She worked efficiently – she had done this once before – and had soon set up a ring of candles around the gravesite and marked out circles with powdered chalk. In the circles she placed various bird and rodent bones and dead, dried plants. She walked a final ring around the candles, trailing chalk and humming a slow tune, making sure she was inside the ring before she completed it.

Still humming, she pulled a small, sharp knife from her bag and knelt on the ground. With the knife she cut into the heels of her palms, never breaking her tune. Blood welled and when a little black puddle had formed in each cupped palm, she dug her hands into the soft mat of rotting leaves. The earth parted around her fingers, welcoming her deeper into it.

"Amanda…" Devon broke off humming to call softly to the body deep beneath her. "Amanda Wolcott, come on up, honey." Her hands sank into the ground up to her wrists, then her elbows. Still she called Amanda Wolcott's name sweetly, trying to wake her gently. Those who died violently could be angry, and it was best not to arouse that anger. Now her arms were sunk into the grave almost to her shoulders and she rested her forehead on the damp, cool ground as she hummed and whispered the dead woman's name. Minutes passed like this before something cold bumped against her hand.

"Come on, sweetie. Come on up. That's right." Devon grabbed hold of the cold mass under the ground and it gave like rotten fruit. Suddenly nauseated, she had to stop and catch her breath before grabbing the thing with renewed determination and hauling it up. The higher it came, the easier it moved until finally Amanda Wolcott's head and hands broke the surface and she clambered out from the earth with minimal help from Devon, who backed off as quickly as she could.

The thing was on all fours and covered in dirt. It watched her as she moved upwind of it with eyes hidden in shadow, never taking its gaze from her. Devon was grateful that she could see so little of it in the dim light of the lantern.

"Amanda," she said. "Hold out your left hand." It did not move, only continued to watch Devon from behind tangled, dirty hair. She tried again. "Amanda, honey, do you know who killed you?"

The thing moved then, arching its back as it wheezed then coughed and choked. _Of course_, she thought, _Its throat was damaged_.

"I know," she said out loud. "Dylan Radcliff. A vampire walking around in the sun while you're down there. You can't tell me that doesn't sting just a little."

It shook its head vehemently, spraying dirt out around it and making Devon turn away and shield her face. She gritted her teeth in irritation. She would be unable to use its finger against Dylan if the thing did not give her permission to do so. It wheezed again.

"_Mon…ahan_…" it choked out.

It took her a moment to catch the name, distorted as it was by the thing's torn throat.

"Monahan? He isn't even –" She stopped and moved a little closer to the thing. "Okay. Dish."

"_Killed… my…bro…ther…_"

"And the plot thickens." She grinned wickedly. "Tell Devon all about it, sweetie."

* * *

Devon drove slowly around the parking lot that surrounded her complex twice, looking for either of the Radcliff's cars, or any other sign of them, before parking. As soon as she got out of the SUV, she had a prickly feeling between her shoulder blades that she was being followed. Glancing around the lot again, she quickened her pace and was almost to her building when a voice called her name close behind her.

"Devon."

She whirled, ready to swing her bag like a weapon, but stumbled back when she recognized Peg Mueller.

"Don't scare me like that!" Devon gasped, a hand to her forehead.

"Did you think I was Claire?"

"Peg, what are you doing here?"

"Claire Radcliff came to me today, sick just from saying your name. I did a little magic of my own and found a hex on her. You're the only person I know who could or would hex anyone. My only question is why?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I haven't done anything to –"

From her purse, Peg pulled a gallon size plastic bag containing a homemade doll with a rat's skull for a head and tightly bound all over with fraying hairs. She held it up to Devon's face, who snatched at it, but she pulled it out of reach too quickly.

"I'll just get it again even if you do take it back tonight," she said, and slipped it back into her purse.

"You broke into my apartment?"

"No, Devon, I didn't. I didn't have to."

She thought about that. Though she was unaware of any means of getting the doll without physically picking it up, that did not mean there was none.

"How then?"

"How stupid do you think I am? I never should have told you _anything_ about the craft. You think I'm going to tell you more?" Peg took a calming breath and shook her head. "That isn't why I wanted to talk to you. Devon, you are getting into some dangerous things—"

"Dangerous things? Okay, _Mom_, you wanted to know why I put a spell on Claire? Do you know what she is?"

"What do you mean 'what she is'?"

"They're vampires, Peg. Her and her husband. Between them, they've killed two people this month. Did you know that? If you break that spell," she pointed to the purse, "they will kill me, and continue to run loose in the Gates."

"That's not possible. I saw Claire in the daylight today."

"They found a way around that. See, Peg, if you'd _use_ your knowledge and power, you would know about this, too."

"Okay, you've had your say. Now let me have mine. I never taught you how to do this." She touched the purse. "What are you getting into?"

"What? Are you jealous that I figured a few things out on my own?"

"Devon! You're filthy and you smell like road kill. You've been raising something, I know it!" Peg's voice had been rising, but now she took a breath and lowered it. "You are getting into the kinds of things that I would never have taught you, that I wish I had never learned. There are things out there so alien to human minds that just associating with them will warp your brain and eat holes in your soul. I've seen it myself. Whatever you called up that told you how to raise the dead, cast hexes, and that the Radcliffs are _vampires_," she rolled her eyes, "it _lies_. The creatures that deal in this magic are tricksters at best and bringers of chaos at worst."

"Thank you so much for your concern. I didn't know you still cared. But Peg? Just because you can't handle this magic doesn't mean that I can't." She smiled insincerely and lunged suddenly at the purse, stumbling when her hand passed right through it. "What the hell?" When she stepped back and looked at Peg, the woman was already fading away into the night, evaporating into steam and smoke.

"You didn't think I'd let this within arm's reach of you again, did you?" Peg's words faded and then she was gone without even a wisp of smoke to show she had been there.

A few hundred yards away, Mia sat at the wheel of her mother's car and watched through the windshield as Devon looked sharply around the parking lot and even up at the sky before running for her building as fast as she could. Peg gasped in the passenger seat where she had sat slumped for several minutes, sucking air as if she had been drowning and only now had made it to the surface. Mia started the engine.

"When are you going to teach me to do that?"

"Never," Peg gasped. Mia sighed.

"Where to?"

"Radcliffs."


	10. Second Verse, Same As the First

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I will not be posting a chapter this Friday, Nov. 26th because of the holidays. I will resume regular posting the week after. Happy Thanksgiving, all!

* * *

Chapter Ten: Second Verse, Same As the First

In a chair in the corner of the bedroom Dylan sat quietly in the dark and watched Claire sleep. He had long since run out of tears and with them went the energy to pace. Every once in a while she made little noises and grimaced as if she were having nightmares, and every time his heart would give a wrench, almost like it was trying to beat again. The bleeding had not started again yet, but he expected it to.

The house made little night sounds as it cooled off from the day and the wind scraped branches against the window. He thought of Christian and Devon, and did not know who he wanted to kill more. Now that he knew Christian's phone number, he could trick him into a meeting and deal with him like the poacher he was. Maybe he would be able to get into Devon's shop now. Though he was aching to get up and _do_ something, he knew neither option would do any good. Claire would still be wasting away, unconscious on their bed, no matter what he did.

He called Devon, who would not answer her phone. He called the other vampires and got variations on the same sympathetic but unhelpful response: _That's terrible, Dylan, but it's not my problem_, which was as he expected. He would have said the same in their place. He thought of all the other people he knew, business acquaintances, mostly, and came up with no one he trusted enough to go to for help except Nick Monahan, who could do nothing. It looked more and more like Christian was his only option left.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" he asked the form on the bed. As if in answer, thunder sounded in the distance. Dylan sank deeper into his chair.

Just as he reached for his phone to finally call Christian, a car pulled into the driveway. The engine stopped and two car doors slammed. For one hopeful moment he thought it might be Nick, then slammed the lid shut on that thought. Ridiculous to be glad to see him when there was nothing he could do to help. He went downstairs and was at the door before the bell rang. Jerking it open, he surprised the two women on the step, who jumped back in alarm.

"Mia?"

The girl stood in the darkness of the arched stoop, in jeans and T-shirt and with a black messenger bag stuffed full of something slung over her shoulder. Behind her, a taller woman stood in loose clothing, with bouncy curls framing a vaguely familiar face.

"Hey, Mr. Radcliff," Mia said. "Oh, my God, are you okay?"

She gazed up at him, wide eyed. He wiped his face and cleared his throat, put on a fake smile and said something unconvincing to which Mia nodded, playing along. He tapped an agitated finger against the doorjamb.

"Do you think we could come in?" she asked. "Oh, this is my mom." Mia tilted her head at the taller woman. Dylan looked her over carefully.

"Pam, is it?"

"Peg. Can we come in? It's about Claire."

"Actually, it's not a good time. Maybe tomorrow." He nodded goodbye and stepped back into the darkened house.

"She told me she was having a problem with Devon."

Dylan froze.

"What do you know about it?" he asked.

"Enough that I'm pretty sure I can fix it."

"You're a doctor."

"Yes." Peg smiled, obviously ready to be let in on that count. "Claire came to my office today. Didn't she tell you?"

He listened closely and picked out their heartbeats from the other, louder sounds of rustling leaves and night animals. Their hearts beat steadily, if a little quickly, which meant it could be the truth or a well-rehearsed lie. He shook his head.

"She doesn't need a doctor. Thanks anyway." He took another step back, ready to close the door when Mia spoke.

"Mr. Radcliff," she said in a tired sort of voice that said she knew exactly how ludicrous her words sounded. "We think Devon's hexed Mrs. Radcliff."

"Mia!" Peg hissed at her. Mia half-turned toward her to give her a helpless shrug before turning back to Dylan.

"Mom knows her stuff, though, so if she did something to Mrs. R., I'm pretty sure she can fix it." She raised a hand and looked at the ground. "I know it sounds crazy, but there it is."

Peg made an exasperated sound and spread her hands at her daughter as if to demand to know what she thought she was doing. Mia just shrugged again. Then the mother turned back to Dylan, every line of her body expressing a besieged dignity that only the truly embarrassed can muster.

Dylan looked them both over again. He'd known Mia for years, had come to trust her in his home, with its many secrets, and with his daughter. She was obviously cashing that trust in now but if they were here for any other purpose but to help Claire, she could have come up with a better story. Finally, he opened the door wide again, giving them room to pass by. He would never let a doctor in to see his wife, but after her talk of witches and the evil eye, he was ready to at least hear what Mia and her mother had to say.

Mia went in first, squeezing past with the extra bulk of the messenger bag. Peg remained where she was.

"Mia, get back here," she called. Mia made a teenaged sound of annoyance and stomped back to stand just outside the door. She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes up, one hip jutting out. "It's better if you explicitly invite us," Peg explained. "It will make it more likely that this will work."

Dylan looked from one to the other silently. They smelled human enough and he could not fathom any reason an invitation would matter to them.

"You serious?" he asked, looking to Mia, who gave an embarrassed half nod and looked at the ground. "Come in, then," he said. Peg blinked at him in surprise.

"Thank you," she said. The two trooped in and Mia led the way to the kitchen, flipping lights on and seeming to warm the house as well as light it as she went. "Mia, get some water going," her mother called.

"'Kay." Pots clattered and cupboards banged as she pulled utensils out, familiar with the kitchen from her many babysitting visits, and soon a saucepot of water sat heating on the stove.

Dylan was on Peg's heels as they passed into the main room, and nearly ran into her when she stopped and turned to face him. She held a hand up, heading off his question.

"Okay," she said, and explained the situation as she would to any other patient's family. "Claire came to me this afternoon, very sick but unable to tell me what had happened. Saying Devon's name seemed to make it worse. I performed some tests and determined that she had been hexed." She said the last word without any special emphasis, as if they were talking about the flu. "I'm not sure exactly what the spell _does_; for the sake of time I didn't do any more tests, but it's malicious. I've got it here," she patted her purse, "And luckily there's a fairly simple way to undo it."

"Right," he said and blinked down at her for several seconds before continuing. "Okay, I want to make it perfectly clear that I'm humoring you when I ask 'What way?'"

"She has to consume the spell."

He gave a nervous bark of laughter and shook his head.

"Is it too late to kick you out?"

"Yes," she said, but her smile was friendly. "Where is Claire?"

"Asleep." His tone discouraged further questions, but seemed to go right over Peg's head.

"Okay." She nodded thoughtfully to herself. "I think you should wake her up. It'll work better if she's involved in this."

Dylan hesitated. If she saw Claire now, Peg might think she was dead, which would present a whole host of new problems for the both of them. Something must have shown on his face because her eyes widened.

"What's wrong with her?" she asked.

"Nothing. She hasn't had much sleep lately and I don't want to wake her up."

"Well, I should still check on her to see what harm the spell has done."

"No." He shook his head. "You walk in here spouting fairy stories about hexes and _eating_ them, and you think I'm going to let you near my wife? You can do your witchdoctoring down here or not at all."

"Dylan, I understand your skepticism. But if this goes on, Claire could die, and there would be no way to connect it to Devon legally. She would get away with it, and might even come after you or Emily next."

"Why would she go after any of us?" he exploded. "What have we done to her?"

"I don't know. I think she feels threatened by Claire in some way. That's Devon for you." Peg shrugged. "If she feels threatened, she attacks. Usually when you least expect it."

"Water's getting hot!" Mia announced.

"What's Mia got to do with all this?" Dylan asked.

"I've been raising her in the craft." She gave him a rueful smile. "Family tradition. Now." She crossed her arms and stood a little straighter. "Claire came to me for help, and I'm going to help her with or without your cooperation. What will it be?"

What could he do? He shook his head helplessly and made a sweeping gesture at the stove. She nodded thanks and walked by, her chin up and her steps quick and purposeful. When she pulled the spell out of her purse, Dylan gaped at the hideous thing.

"What is _that_?"

"This is the hex." Peg held it up for him to see before she dumped it out of its plastic bag, took it in two hands and twisted the rat's skull off the top. It had been affixed with wooden dowels and hot glue. Mia pulled variously colored candles out of her bag and arranged them on the counter around the stove, smiling and humming a quick tune.

"I thought spells were rhymes or nose twitches or something."

"Not this one."

"This is what's been making her sick?"

"Yes."

"But she said it was tea."

"Who said it was tea?"

"Um… Well, Devon." Oh, he could kick himself for believing anything the woman had ever said. He rubbed his eyes. "She came in here and had Claire drink something. And I _helped_ her!" Mia jumped at the volume of his voice. He wanted to break something but instead crossed his arms, gripping his biceps tightly, and paced away to get a hold of himself. It would not do to lose his temper around these two. Peg gave him a sympathetic look.

"Don't feel bad. You're not the first family to be infiltrated by someone like her, and you won't be the last. You didn't do anything wrong. Here," she handed him a plastic lighter. "Start lighting candles."

Dylan did as he was told, happy to have something to do, until he got to the last one, a fat, white thing with a long, black wick that would not light, no matter how long he held the flame to it. Finally he held it up to Peg.

"Is this one of those joke candles?" he asked. She blinked at it, frowned and took it from him.

"Mia," she held the candle out to her daughter. "Red, not white."

Mia bobbed her head, still humming, and traded the white candle out for a red one from the bag before pulling a stone mortar and pestle out as well. She took a seat at the island and, dropping the rat's skull into the mortar, began cracking it up with the pestle. Water steamed and began to boil on the stove as Peg lit the last candle and set it in line with the rest, then dropped the body of the doll into the pot where it turned and danced in the roiling water, but was otherwise unaffected. Dylan came over to slump in the chair next to Mia, one leg bouncing with pent up energy.

Peg began to hum along with her daughter as she went through the candles on the counter one by one, picking each up and tipping it over the pot so that a few drops of wax fell into the water and onto the doll.

"So, if Devon had this," he pointed at the mortar containing the broken bits of skull, "how did your mother get it?"

"Oh, it was so cool. She sang to it 'til it walked right out—"

"Mia!" Her mother gave her a sharp look before gesturing at the mortar. "Aren't you forgetting something?" For a moment, it appeared that Mia did not understand, then she cried "Oh!" and pulled the black bag across the counter. She produced a small, glass spice jar full of tiny specks of seeds. Before she could twist the cap off, Dylan put a hand over it, stopping her.

"What is that?" he asked.

"This?" Mia held it up. "Mustard seed."

Dylan gave her a long stare and she shrank back from him.

"How necessary is it?" he asked eventually.

"Scale of one to ten? About a three." She shrugged. "It's for luck, mostly."

"Let's leave it out then. Claire's allergic."

"Oh. No problem." She dropped the jar in the bag and went back to work on the rat skull, now nearly a powder, humming along with her mother. She gave him a sidelong look as he put his elbows on the counter and buried his face in his hands.

"You know, most people wouldn't even let us do this," she observed.

"I wouldn't, either, except there's nothing else to be done." He sat up a little straighter. "I suppose it can't hurt."

"Yes, it can," Peg said sternly from her position over the pot. "We're not here to cause any trouble, but people like Devon can wreak havoc with this knowledge. You're lucky that she's such an amateur, or I wouldn't have been able to fix this in one night. Who knows what she's going to get into next." She shook her head.

"You don't think this is the end of it, then. Will she go after Claire again?"

"Maybe. Probably."

"And what do I do then?"

Peg had been tipping a blue candle over the pot but her hand slowed as she replaced it in the ring on the counter. She held it at its base and tapped the blue wax, seriously considering his question. After a while she turned to face him and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed.

"There's not much you can do that won't make you a target, too. Your best option is to stop it before it starts again by staying away from her. Don't try to get back at her for this. Don't go to her home or her shop. Don't let her into your house or eat or drink anything she gives you. That should about do it."

"Hide from her, you mean."

"I would call it being the better person, but if you _must_, then think of it as ostracizing her. It's your first and best line of defense. And there's also—" She stopped and tipped her head. "I don't mean to pry, but is there anything that might be making Claire unhappy?"

"Why does that matter to you? Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. He had not meant to snap at her. Their presence in the house, no matter how well-meaning, felt like an intrusion with Claire so incriminatingly unconscious upstairs. The vampire craved privacy and silence in the face of such a frightening situation, and these two would have none of it.

"That's alright. It matters because unhappy households are easier to infiltrate. I'm not saying that's necessarily what happened here, but it would help to make sure the family is…" She tipped her head back and forth with a small, reassuring smile. "Harmonious."

"I'm afraid we don't do harmony very well."

"Try. It will help keep this from happening again. Mia?" She held a hand out and the girl jumped up from her seat to pass the mortar to her. Peg dumped the dusty contents into the pot and reached for the last candle. Mia beckoned Dylan to come over to the stove.

"This part's cool," she said.

The red candle still in her hand, Peg turned the stove off, but the burner underneath was still hot enough to keep the water boiling. She tilted the candle over the pot and as the first drop of red wax hit the water, it quit boiling and steaming all at once and the doll fell apart as if the heat had finally melted whatever had been holding it together. Bits of blond hairs floated and tangled with dry sticks and grass, and here and there globs of hot glue and wax floated and clumped the grass and hair together.

"For the record," Peg said, "I don't like doing this sort of thing. It's attracts attention I'd rather not have and it smells bad."

Dylan sniffed at the pot and had to agree.

"Which is why," she continued, "I would appreciate it if you would follow my advice and let this be an end to the problem." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'll see what I can do," he said noncommittally. "So, is that it?"

"Almost." Mia found a strainer and Peg poured the darkened water into a glass. "She needs to drink this. And _this_," she picked up the strainer and tipped it over a mason jar her daughter had produced from the black bag, "we will take with us." When the remains of the spell were safely sealed in the jar, the Muellers left. Peg repeated her instructions at the door: "She needs to drink the whole glass. Call me tomorrow and let me know how she's doing."

Once they had left, Dylan stood in the foyer, half wondering if he had imagined the whole thing. They had come bustling in with their light and noise and left so quickly that the house seemed too quiet and a little colder for their absence. The wind picked up outside and rustled in the bushes and trees, a poor substitute for Mia's musical humming.

A soft noise came from upstairs and Dylan's head jerked around to listen. He dashed up the stairs as fast as he could and found Claire propped up on one elbow and rubbing her face. He came to crouch by the bedside and look up at her. She looked better, not quite so skeletal, and gazed around the room as if seeing it for the first time.

"I was downstairs," she whispered. "How did I get up…" Her eyes widened and she looked down at him. "Oh, Dylan. I remember. Devon tricked me. She took some of my blood and – oomph!" Her eyes widened as the arm she had been leaning on slipped out from under her and she fell back onto the pillows. "I feel like hell," she groaned.

"Mia's mum left you something to take," he said and touched her face. "I'll be right back. Stay here."

She snorted. "Well, I was going to walk to the market, but if you say so…" her voice was barely audible, but relieved tears rose in his eyes and he laughed them away. She was in the same spot when he returned with the glass of darkened water.

"Did you say something about Mia being here?" she asked.

"And her mother."

"Oh. Peg. I went to her… when was it? Yesterday?"

"Today." He helped her sit up and sat behind her, propping her up against his chest. "I'm sorry, love. I should have been here." He held the glass to her lips and her hands were on top of his, feather light and weak, and he tipped it gently so she could drink. Afterward, she lay back again, still so weak that he helped her arrange herself comfortably. Before she drifted off, he kissed the spot on her neck where he had bitten her years ago, making her shiver.


	11. Family Secrets

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I hope everyone had a great weekend (and a happy Thanksgiving to my American readers). I'm going back to weekly installments 'til Christmas :)

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Family Secrets

In the car, Peg took the driver's seat and shushed Mia, who looked as though she was about to speak. Only when they were a block away did she feel safe to talk.

"Mia, I don't want you babysitting for them anymore."

"Mom!"

"No. You saw the candle. He couldn't light it."

"Oh, come on."

They stopped at an intersection and Peg gave her daughter a look out of the corner of her eye.

"What? Maybe he was in the military. I mean, does the candle know if he killed someone in Afghanistan?"

"Yes."

The car moved again and electric orange light passed through the cab at intervals as the first small drops of rain splattered on the windshield.

"Oh. But they pay fifteen an hour for _one kid_, Mom."

"How did he look when you brought out the mustard?"

She thought about it, remembering the long stare he had given her.

"I don't know," Mia said. "He looked at me and for a second there I thought he was onto us."

"I don't want you going back over there. That's final."

"You really think they're vampires?"

"I think it more now than I did before."

Mia thought about that. "What are vampires like?"

"Dangerous. Violent. They're chameleon hunters. They trick you into thinking they're just like you and before you know it, they've got you. They're strong, too. You can't fight them, not physically."

"I've been babysitting Emily for years, Mom. They've had plenty of chances to _eat_ _me_." She rolled her eyes as she said the last two words. "Besides, I think you just described Gigi. 'Cept for, you know, old lady."

"Which should give you a good indication of how dangerous they are." She thought back over what she had said and had to agree with Mia. It was hard to say if her grandmother was as bad as a vampire or if they were as bad as her. "They've got a good thing here. You don't shit where you eat."

"So, it's safe, then. It's not like they're going to attack me."

"Just because they haven't so far doesn't mean they won't. It's in their nature to kill, and it's just a matter of time." She thought of what Devon had told her, that they had killed twice in the last month. Had she been telling the truth?

"If they're so dangerous, why did you help them?"

"Because I don't play the same games Gigi played. I did it because Claire asked me for help." She shrugged. "And it won't hurt to have them owe me one."

"So what about Emily?"

"What about her?"

"Well, if it's too dangerous for me…"

"Emily might be one, too."

"Okay, one? Creepy. Two? Why would they hire a babysitter for a vampire kid?"

"Good point. Okay, she's probably not a vampire."

"So? Are you going to do something about that?"

"I'll think about it. I'm more worried about Devon right now."

"Is she going to come after you?" Her voice softened with real fear.

"Yeah, babe, I think she will."

"What are we gonna do?"

Peg smiled.

"_I'm_ going to put up some protections while _you_ go to bed."

"What? But Mom—"

"No 'buts.' You've got school tomorrow."

"Aw, man. When you did this stuff with Gigi, did she make you go to bed early?"

"Grandmamma didn't care if I went to school or not. _I_ did, and now I care if you go."

"You going somewhere else tonight?"

"Yes. I'm going to see Frank Buckley."

"You're gonna _tattle_ on Devon?"

"No, I'm not going to tattle. We keep this in the family."

"Devon's not family," Mia scoffed.

"No, but she's still my responsibility. I don't want Frank to think we've been doing something we shouldn't. I'm going to talk to him about the Radcliffs."

"That guy is so creepy."

"Dylan?"

"Buckley. The guy clearly knows more than he's letting on. You should be careful. He reminds me of Gigi."

"Me, too." Which was funny because Dylan had not. "Hey, you did great tonight."

"Really?" A streetlight flashed orange across Mia's pleased smile.

"Yeah, really."

Vanessa opened the door and blinked in surprised to see Peg Mueller on the doorstep.

"Peg!" She recovered and smiled, the perfect hostess. "I didn't expect to see you this late. Come in."

"Vanessa, I need to talk to Frank. Is he in?" She craned her neck to get a look inside, but saw nothing of interest past the foyer.

"Of course." She stood back and let Peg in, calling to her husband as she did.

Frank came down the stairs as Peg entered the parlor, his shirt partially unbuttoned, which was as casual as she had ever seen him.

"Sorry to come by so late," she said.

"Oh, that's alright," he assured her. "We're night owls around here. Is anything the matter?"

"Vanessa? Could you give us some privacy?"

Vanessa gaped at her. Peg sympathized. Frank winced and nodded to Vanessa, his face pleading, and his wife walked calmly out, shooting Peg a quizzical look as she passed.

"What's this about, Peg?" Frank asked when his wife had left the room.

"I've just come from the Radcliffs' house. Do you know about them?"

"What about them?" He smiled innocently and even laughed a little.

"What they are."

"And what are they, Peg?" The innocence was gone and instead his eyes narrowed, calculating, gauging her reaction.

"You knew." She shook her head, hardly believing it.

"What the Radcliffs are? Yes. I told you, Peg, I know everything about my residents. Even you."

"You let vampires live in here? Do you know how dangerous that is?"

"I let you live in here, too."

"That's different. I don't—" she stopped herself. Frank raised his eyebrows and waited patiently for her to finish.

"They don't anymore, either," he said when she failed to speak. "Glass houses, Peg. How'd you find out? I thought you swore off that stuff. In fact you promised me you did."

Crap. She had not thought to prepare a believable story. She could almost hear Gigi tsk-tsking her for being so woefully out of practice. She settled on the truth, or at least just enough of it to make the rest sound credible.

"Claire came to me and asked for help with cravings. Of course I didn't know what kind of cravings until I visited her tonight. I saw things. Frank, they have a little girl living with them."

"So do you."

"Okay, that is definitely different."

"But to be fair, they've never actually had a child die in their house, have they? Can you say the same?"

If he had hit her, she could not have been more stunned. She shook her head, feigning confusion.

"I-I don't know what you're…"

"What is it about the Mueller males? They never quite seem to make it to adulthood, do they? See Peg? Everyone has secrets. I protect you and Mia by keeping those secrets, the same way I protect the Radcliffs. If you go around unearthing those secrets, I don't know how well I'll be able to protect you in the future." He cocked his head. "And isn't that how your family got into trouble in the first place? Digging up secrets?"

She managed a smile and hoped it looked sincere. "Yes," she said, when she trusted herself to speak again without choking. "I guess it was."

"Go home, Peg. And leave the Radcliffs alone. They're no danger to you."

"Alright. Thank you, Frank. Sorry to barge in. Good night."

She walked slowly, calmly out into a drizzling rain that had begun to fall and took care not to slam the car door or pull out into the street too fast. She fumed silently and added another name to the growing list of dangerous people living inside the Gates.


	12. Rainy Day Activities

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Sorry, guys. I totally forgot to post last night, and then I was traveling all day today. Also, since the Christmas crunch is upon me and I can't seem to find the time to so much as proof-read what I've written, I won't be posting for the next two weeks. Chapter 13 will appear on Dec. 31st. 'Til then, I hope everyone has a wonderful and safe holiday season. Keep warm, guys :)

* * *

Chapter twelve: Rainy Day Activities

Karen leaned over the bathroom sink to put the finishing touches on her eyeliner, careful not to get her sleeve in any of the little makeup compacts, jars, and pencils that were spread out all over the counter. Rain drummed on the roof and thunder rumbled in the distance. She blinked at her reflection, checking both eyes. As she put the cap back on the pencil, she heard Brett call to her, not bothering to yell since he knew she would hear him.

"Mom, we're going to be late."

"I know what time it is," she answered sharply. She checked her hair once more before stepping over the clothes on the floor to dig her umbrella out of the closet and head downstairs, carrying her shoes. More than once she had nearly broken her neck tripping over a shoe or a book that Brett had left on the stairs, and she had learned her lesson. "And you're not going to be late," she said to her son when she saw him standing anxiously by the front door. She stopped to pull on her heels, but before she got the first shoe on, she and Brett heard the approach of an engine in the driveway. Her son peeked out of the window by the door.

"It's Simon," he announced.

"Damn. Get upstairs."

"But Mom—"

"I'll deal with him. If you step in, he can take it as a challenge. Go!"

Brett nodded and ran exactly three quarters of the way up the stairs, where he stood to watch. It was a good vantage point for the door since the steps ended just yards away from it. Karen noticed but ignored him. She dropped her shoes by the door and opened it. Simon Ford's pickup sat in the driveway, and he was already out of the cab and jogging up to the door, soaked because he carried no umbrella.

"What are you doing here, Simon?" Karen asked, imbuing the question with too little friendliness to mask its impertinence. She did not bother to make her smile seem real.

As the men's alpha, Karen theoretically owed Simon a certain amount of respect, but she refused to give him any more than the minimal amount of lip service that was strictly required. As soon as he was inside, dripping on the tile, Simon slammed the door closed behind him, making the glass inlay shiver, and walked threateningly up to Karen, forcing her to either back up or touch him. She chose to back up, knowing she was giving ground to him, and hoping that at least it would satisfy him enough that he would do nothing to provoke a misguided attempt by Brett to protect her. He maneuvered her until her back was to the wall that supported the stairs, then leaned forward and breathed in her scent.

"Shit, and I thought it was just gossip, you and Zach," Simon drawled.

"What Zachary and I do is none of your business."

"Like hell. Everything this pack does is my business." He poked a callused finger into her chest. She looked down at it disdainfully. She sniffed and to her surprise, smelled no alcohol. Maybe eight in the morning was too early even for Simon.

"Did you come over here just to sniff my panties or is there something else?" She glared at him, all pretense of respect gone, and he snarled at her, his blunt human teeth taking little of the threat out of it.

"He's angling for alpha, isn't he?"

"What? Are you high?"

He grabbed her arms just below the shoulders and shook her hard before slamming her against the wall. She heard Brett come pounding down the stairs and brought her knee up into Simon's groin. As he doubled up in pain, she shoved him back and stepped away from the wall. She paused to point at her son, frozen on the bottom step and looking ready to jump on Simon's bent back.

"Brett, get the hell upstairs! Simon, you may be able to treat that omega wife of yours like this, but I'm not Joan." Simon stood up slowly, his face red and furious. This time, Karen stood her ground. "I'm the women's alpha and I did not hold my place after Walter died by letting people like you push me around." He took a threatening step toward her.

"There's no way in hell you're winning this fight, Karen," Simon rasped, his voice still rough from pain.

"You're right. I'll lose, but I can make sure you don't win, either. Think about it, Simon. Is this worth losing an eye? Because I promise you, you won't walk away from this fight in one piece. And what will the pack think? You attacked the women's alpha and then she took a piece out of you? Don't be stupid, Simon."

For a long moment everyone stood rooted to the spot, each one, even Simon, waiting to see what he would decide to do. Finally, Simon took a step back toward the door.

"You tell Zach this is a cowardly way to win alpha," he said.

"Tell him yourself."

"I beat him once, I can beat him again."

"Not if the pack turns on you. Keep pulling stunts like this, and they might."

Simon took a step toward her again, and again Karen stayed where she was, her legs spread and hands slightly forward, not quite fists, but ready to be.

"Are you threatening me, Karen?"

"Just some free advice," she spat.

Simon pointed at her.

"I'll whup his ass just like last time if he comes to challenge me."

Karen let him have the last word, compromising by sneering at him as he backed out of the door. She relaxed her stance only when the truck's engine started. Whirling on Brett, who had retreated to the top of the stairs, she jabbed a finger at him.

"When I say go upstairs, I mean _go upstairs_!" she roared.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry Mom."

The fury fled her all at once and she sat down on the bottom step to put her head in her hands. Brett joined her and leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

"Brett, he'll beat me up, but he'll kill you," she said, her voice muffled. "And I'd rather take a thousand beatings than lose you." She took a deep, steadying breath to push back tears, blowing it out between her lips and when she looked up at Brett, her eyes were dry. In a softer voice, she said, "Go get in the car."

She stood and as Brett went around to the garage door, she pulled her heels on and stopped to check her hair in the mirror in the back hallway, smoothing it back into place and fixing a little smear of eyeliner where a tear had almost fallen.

Once Brett had been dropped off, Karen went to work and on the way called three of the biggest gossips of the pack, confident that every pack member would know the story before she got home.

* * *

Waves of rain washed against the textured window of Andie's bathroom as the last white pills spiraled down the toilet bowl and disappeared into the pipe. Andie shook herself and exhaled as if she could breath out the tension in her chest and back that might have been the residual effects of the pills or fear of a future she could not guess at.

With another deep breath and exhalation, she turned to the mirror. She put on a sympathetic face.

"Charlie, I have to talk to you," she began. "There are things going on in my life right now that I can't tell you about—no." She cleared her throat and began again. "Charlie, I can't see you anymore because my life has gotten too complicated and you're part of that, and…" She sighed. "Charlie, I've got this problem and it means that if we're… _together_, it could make you sick—oh, now it just sounds like I have herpes."

Her father knocked on the door.

"Andie? We've got to go, kiddo," he called. "We still need to pick up Mia."

"Be right out," she answered. When his footsteps retreated down the hall, she glared at her reflection and made a face. "It's not you, it's me, let's just be friends. Yeah. That'll work."

* * *

Peg sat at her kitchen table, a scarred, green chalkboard flat on the tabletop in front of her and a yellowing cloth bag in her hand. She hummed a slow, repetitive tune as she drew a circle in chalk on the board. Andie and her father had already come and gone to take Mia to school, and since her first appointment was late in the afternoon, Peg had the morning to herself. She shook the bag thoughtfully, enjoying the rattle of the objects inside, before she poured them into her hand. More than a dozen small bones, each of a different shape, tumbled out. Pressing them between her palms, she stood and held them above the circle before releasing them all at once, allowing them to rattle onto the chalkboard.

She studied the resulting pattern, her forefinger moving from one bone to another, hovering above them but never touching. She shook her head and slumped back into her chair.

"Well, shit," she muttered.


	13. House Call

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: House Call

Dylan woke to the sound of the doorbell. The bed was empty and cold beside him, but if he listened, he could just hear Claire moving through the house downstairs, on her way to answer the door. When she spoke, her voice was strong and cheerful.

"Oh!" she cried. "Come in, come in. Dylan! It's Peg!"

He rolled over and rubbed his face. He had never quite gotten used to waking up before dusk. By the time he dressed and entered the kitchen, Peg had already taken it over. Big bushy bundles of herbs lay across the counters and the same black bag from the night before sat next to them. Outside the rain had stopped and the sun peeked out, making the world outside distressingly bright as it reflected off puddles on the patio and glinted in drops that fell from drenched leaves. And here Dylan had been hoping it would stay overcast all day.

Claire inspected a small glass object in her hands. She held it up when he came in, puzzlement in her face. It was a glass dolphin, its back arched as if jumping. Peg stepped around the island toward him, sandals slapping on the tile.

"Hi, Dylan. I've got one for you, too," she said, and dropped a little wooden teddy bear into his palm.

"You shouldn't have," he said, and returned Claire's quizzical expression.

"They're charms," Peg explained. "For protection. Try to keep them on you if you leave the house.

"And the herbs?" Claire asked, her hand hovering over one of the bundles.

"Don't touch those!" Peg ordered, and Claire jerked her hand back. "The magic's a little delicate," she continued more calmly. "It's better if I'm the only one who handles them." She came back to the counter and held up a green bundle with thin, oddly shaped leaves. "I've got lavender for luck and sage," she shook a bunch of gray-green leaves at Dylan, "for harmony."

"And the branches?"

"Oh, I got those at Pottery Barn." She twirled a bundle of sage. "I think they'll round out the arrangements nicely."

He looked back down at the teddy bear. It had a bow tie. He held it up to Claire.

"I'll trade you for the dolphin," he said.

"Not likely," she said, smiling and lifting one brow.

"No trading," Peg admonished them. "I picked these for a reason. You each have your own that will only work for you. At least I think they'll work. Devon's gotten into something and I don't know what she'll do now. Oh, and salt." She said the last to Claire. "Salt disrupts the energies. Put a ring of it around the house and it'll be that much harder for her to do anything to you."

"Is all this really necessary?" Dylan asked. "Couldn't I just pop 'round and give her a good," he looked at Claire, "talking to?"

"Been there, done that," Peg answered. She sighed and started sorting the herbs into attractive arrangements. "It's better if you stay away from her for now. I know how to handle this kind of thing, so just let me deal with her." She pointed at a tall bar chair. "Can I use that?"

"For what?"

She held up some sage. "We should put these above the doors. I've got brackets, and…" She opened the bag and started digging through it.

"No. No, absolutely not."

"Dylan," Claire said, pleadingly. She walked over to him and put her arms around his neck, the dolphin still in her hand. "Let her help," she said quietly.

"There have been enough people invading our lives lately. We don't need them coming by unexpectedly to—to _redecorate_."

Peg continued rooting through the bag, pretending to ignore them.

"She knows more about all this than we do."

"For all we know, you got better because of Devon's help, not hers. It was rather _convenient_ of her to just show up last night."

"Dylan, do you honestly think she's untrustworthy?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I trust her."

"You trusted Devon, too."

"No, I never trusted her. She tricked me into—" She glanced at Peg, who poked idly through her bundles. "I'll give you the details later. I trust her. I think she can help."

He put a hand on her neck on the old, invisible bite and she leaned into it.

"You look better. How do you feel?"

"Like new. After Devon left, I felt… _violated_." She hissed the last word. "But not now. Whatever was making me sick, it isn't there any more. I can feel it."

"Alright," he said.

"Thank you," she whispered. She returned to Peg while he sat at the island to keep a close watch on things. Claire arranged a chair in front of the patio doors and handed up tools to Peg as needed.

"I can put those up for you," he said as Peg lined up the brackets with a leveler and a pencil. She laughed.

"Sorry if I'm stepping on your manhood, Dylan," she said. "But for best effect I really should do this myself. I appreciate the offer, though."

"So Peg," Claire asked with exaggerated casualness. "How is Devon able to do all this? It seems almost like witchcraft." She glanced at Dylan, her smile barely concealed.

"That would be because it is. Dylan saw a little last night. Hammer."

Claire handed the hammer up, exchanging it for the leveler and pencil, and smirked at Dylan.

"Oh, that's good to know," she said. "Dylan and I were in disagreement on that point."

"What my lovely wife is trying to say, Peg, is she told me so." Under his breath he added, "But I was right about the sunscreen." Peg did not react except to begin hammering but Claire heard him clearly and rolled her eyes.

"You're not getting out of it that easy," she told him. "I've earned this gloat and I'm going to savor it."

"So would that make you a witch, Peg?" he asked, ignoring Claire's remark.

"Lapsed. Bracket."

"What does that mean, exactly, 'lapsed'?"

"It means I went to med school and I don't do love potions," she said over the sound of the hammer.

When the patio doors were properly decked, they relocated to the arched entryway of the front doors and Dylan managed to convince Peg to let him carry the chair. No sooner did she stand on it, leveler and pencil in hand and blocking both of the double doors, than the doorbell rang again. Dylan pulled the curtains aside to find Nick standing on the doorstep. He pointed to the side, indicating the patio, and went back through the house, hoping Nick would understand and meet him there. Moments after he stepped outside, Nick appeared around the corner in uniform and with a file folder thick with papers under one arm. He shook his head and frowned questioningly.

"What's going on?" Nick asked, gesturing at the house. Dylan snorted.

"Oh, couldn't you tell? The local witchdoctor is adjusting our feng shui."

"What?"

"You've missed a lot. That's Peg Mueller in there. She and Devon are witches according to her. Devon's the green one and Peg's the one in pink. Oh!" He dug the charm out of his pocket and displayed it. "She gave me a teddy bear. Do you ever stop and ask yourself 'when did my life go off the rails?'"

"Every day. We need to talk."

"Am I under arrest for something or is this social?"

"Neither." He hefted the file folder. "I'll see your teddy bear and raise you a third body. You're a sort of expert witness at this point and I need to ask you some questions." He paused, frowned, and lowered his voice. "You really think Devon Buckley is a witch? What's that even mean? She dance around trees or turn people into newts?"

"I can't speak as to what she dances around, but she made Claire sick and…" He shook his head and glanced through the glass of the patio doors. "Nick, she was bleeding out faster than she could drink it. I've never seen that."

"Well, I went looking for her this morning. I checked her apartment complex and she's not answering her door. The spa is closed and the guy who runs the café next to her says she's out of town, but he doesn't know why or where to. I had Eddie pull the logs for the gate and we've got her leaving the Gates at about five this morning. Got video of it, too. He's gonna call me when she shows up again. And Dylan? If she shows up dead…"

He did not need to finish the sentence. If she showed up dead, Dylan would be the first suspect. He almost pointed out that if _he_ killed her, she would not show up at all, but instead put his hands behind his back and nodded.

"Understood."

"This," Nick lifted the file folder again, "is the Jansen case, now quickly becoming the vampire murders case, if you've seen the papers."

"I haven't. Is this third body as obvious as the first two?"

"I'd rather find somewhere to talk first."

"Ehm…" As much as it pained him to let another outsider into the house, he was reluctant to leave Claire alone with Peg and between the sun overhead and its reflection in rainwater everywhere else, it was getting uncomfortably bright out here. "Inside, I suppose." He led the way in and was about to sit at the dining table when Nick stopped him.

"There somewhere more private?" He nodded at the women in the foyer. "This is an ongoing investigation. I'm not even supposed to be talking to you. I'm sure you understand the need for confidentiality."

"Of course." He changed direction and led Nick into the foyer where Peg teetered on her perch, the tiles making the chair unsteady. Claire had one hand on the chair back and the other up in case Peg fell. She craned her neck to whisper so only Dylan could hear.

"Witch or not, she'll crack her skull open," she hissed.

"Hope springs eternal," Dylan murmured back, earning a quizzical look from Nick.

"Tch," she chided.

Nick exchanged a brief greeting with Peg and Claire as the men went upstairs. Dylan opened the door to a small, darkened room lined with wooden bookshelves stained a deep brown that seemed black in the gloom. An old, overstuffed chair and a comfortable-looking leather couch took up space in the middle of the room. Thick curtains blocked any light from the single, large window. Nick squinted in the darkness at the spines of the books that overflowed the shelves, then gazed around as if looking for something before shaking his head at Dylan, who crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside.

"You would have a library with no lights."

"Yes, well… Can you see well enough now?"

Nick sat in the chair, the closest piece of furniture to the indirect sunlight coming from the window and nodded. He dug a little green notebook and a pen out of his breast pocket as Dylan took a seat on the couch.

"Okay, first things first," Nick began, clicking his pen. "I need you to tell me everything you did in the apartment."

Dylan settled back in his seat and crossed his arms, having decided to humor the man to get the information he wanted and send him on his way.

"Not much," he began. "I went in, poked around a bit, planned to just wait until he came home and get him then. But then I found the body, and apparently I'm out of practice at sneaking around because the neighbors saw something and called the police. I jumped out a window, went to the car and called you."

"How did you find the body?"

"Stuffed in a fridge."

Nick snorted. "What made you look in the fridge?"

"I was looking for a beer."

"Really?"

"Yes. I thought I was going to be there for a while."

"You don't strike me as the beer drinking type."

"I didn't strike you as the blood drinking type initially, either."

"Good point. I just thought it might have been your friend that wanted the beer." He said it casually, as if referencing something they both knew to be true. Dylan saw the trap and skirted it.

"What friend?"

"The, uh…" He made a show of searching for the description in the notebook. "Forty-something white male dressed too well for the neighborhood that was seen entering the building and prowling around the hallways about twenty minutes before the _thirty_-something white male that was too well-dressed for the neighborhood showed up. No one saw either man leave."

"I don't know who this man is. Maybe he's the one I was looking for."

"Oh, yeah. That could be it." He tapped the notebook against the edge of the table, as if in quick and excited thought. "He might'a come home, saw or heard you coming, and jumped out the same window you later used. Perfectly plausible. But then, if that's the case, why did he come back later lugging takeout?"

"Takeout?" This time Dylan's confusion was authentic.

"Vic number three." Again, he flipped through the notebook. "This one happened after you left." He read off his notes. "Hispanic male, mid-twenties, found near the building in the parking lot. John Doe, no ID. No one in the building could identify him, so he probably didn't live there. Here's the thing about this guy. He was killed _after_ police arrived on the scene upstairs. People heard shouting, sounds of a struggle, went to investigate and found him. A woman upstairs said she saw two men fighting in the parking lot, but it was too dark to get a good description. John Doe was bitten, too, but not as neatly and he bled out on the pavement. Dead by the time the paramedics arrived. The perpetrator fled the scene before anyone could get a good look at him. Makes me think our guy was bringing home dinner and was surprised to find cops crawling all over his pad. So, why'd he come back, Dylan?"

Dylan gave him his best innocent shrug, but Nick smirked, a malicious glint of humor in his eyes that resonated with something deep and dark inside Dylan, who laughed, relenting.

"You're enjoying this," he accused.

"Yeah." Nick grinned.

"Look, it doesn't matter who, if anyone, was in the flat with me. This is my responsibility, not yours."

"Bullshit. Who was this guy?"

"He's a…"

GOING CRAZY. NEED TO SEE YOU. – C

"An acquaintance," Dylan finished.

"This acquaintance got an alibi for Saturday night?"

"I didn't ask." Dylan frowned. Was Christian responsible? Why would he leave such an obvious trail? It was just possible that Christian was in one of his moods and might do it as part of some ill-conceived plan to run Dylan and Claire out of the Gates. Suddenly, he felt a great deal more well-disposed toward Nick and his questions. "It's unlikely that he killed the woman in the flat. There was a vampire there, but not him."

"What makes you think that?"

"The smell. My _acquaintance_ is… family of a sort. Family smell different from strangers, and it was definitely a stranger's flat."

"I guess I'll just have to take your word on that. What do you know about the cleaning solution all over the place? The best prints we got were a couple of partials on the underside of a cupboard door."

"Oh." He winced. "That was me. Didn't want to be linked to the place."

"You ever been printed?"

"No."

"Then I'll be sure to look that up."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Too bad. Next time wear gloves. Good news is we got a full print off the John Doe's glasses. Looks like the thumb. If the guy's got a record, we'll know who he is. Now, here's my next question. How do you turn someone into… one of you?" He gestured at Dylan, who just stared at him. "It's _relevant_, Dylan. Here." He shuffled through the file folder and pulled out a stapled packet of photocopies of hand-written notes. He leafed through them until he found what he was looking for and handed the packet to Dylan. "Third paragraph down. The ME found blood of unknown type in Jansen's mouth and stomach. Now, I've done some research." Dylan gave him a look before he continued reading. "Yeah, I know. Everything's true on the Internet. But this exchange of blood thing keeps showing up, which makes me think—"

"These are the notes from the autopsy." Dylan held the packet up, his eyes wide and his mouth dry in dawning horror.

"Yeah."

"Nick, I need to get back in the morgue. To Barbara's body. Now."

"Well, we can't go now and I don't have the key card anyway."

"So get it back."

"I can't just wave my magic wand, Dylan. Why's it so important?" He lowered his voice. "He tried to turn her into a vampire, didn't he?"

"Yes. He may have succeeded." Dylan rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. "Alright. It takes a few days for all the changes to occur. During that time you're more or less paralyzed but you're awake. You can feel what's happening. If she was turned and someone performed an autopsy on her…" He shook his head, not wanting to think any farther than that. Nick sat back and chewed his lip.

"Would that be enough to kill her for good?"

"Depends on if you think there's a God," he muttered, then louder, "We're very hard to kill."

"Okay, so we need to get back in."

Dylan spread his hands and gave him an exasperated nod – _Ya think?_

"I can probably convince them to let me in to see the latest bodies." Nick shook his head. "Or something. I'll palm the key then pick you up at ten."

"No, I'll pick you up. My car's less conspicuous."

"The BMW? No way. Anyway, nobody asks a cop what he's doing."

"You won't want to be associated with whatever I decide to do about this, and there'll be no hiding the evidence. My car."

"What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I can't…" He paused. "The other two, what do you know about them?"

"What am I looking for?"

"Blood in the mouth and stomach?"

Nick consulted the notebook.

"Okay, the one in the fridge? Name's Ackerman. There was blood in the mouth," Nick read off his notes. "And in the John Doe's. But it might have been theirs. Won't know 'til the tests come in."

"Tests." Dylan leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "Nick, this could be disastrous. If the others think that we're about to be exposed, they will remove anyone they think is a danger."

"Remove. You mean kill the investigators."

"If necessary. They'll go after the proof. If something shows up in these tests and they find out about it, they'll destroy the evidence and anyone who gets in their way."

"Then we need to find this guy. Fast."

"'We'? No. No, you need to stay out of it."

"Look, I'm not exactly eager to go head to head with one of you. I've seen what you can do. But you made a good point the other night. You've got a kid and a job. How are you going to do this without help? Time's wasting, and every minute this guy is loose, he risks exposing you and killing more people in the process. You said this is your territory. Can't you get the others to help?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Then how does it work?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Jesus, Dylan."

"The situation is complicated. Political. If I involve them, it puts me in a bad position."

"Yeah, well, it sounds like they're going to get involved one way or another if someone doesn't take care of this fast. Dylan, can you honestly tell me you can handle this on your own?"

Dylan sat back, thinking, one hand to his mouth, the thumb unconsciously rubbing the middle finger. Nick had a point. He had a life during the day now and it was getting in the way of hunting at night. Claire would help, but he did not like the idea of getting her out of one danger just to throw her into another. He was also not quite ready to forgive her for keeping secrets from him. Christian, of course, was out of the question. Nick must have read something on his face because he nodded as if Dylan had responded out loud.

"Look," Nick began, "Maybe there was a time you could track someone like this down by yourself without blowing your cover, but that time is over, my friend. Now, are you gonna accept the help I'm offering, or are you gonna let him get another one in tonight?"

Tonight. Dylan thought of something and sat up straight.

"Nick, when was the third man killed?"

"'Bout six this morning. Why?"

"The sun has been coming up at around six-thirty."

"What's that mean?"

"Well, we can't all walk around in the daylight." He put his hands together in front of his mouth. "Assuming he can't, if he was surprised to find his flat unavailable, then he'd have to go to ground somewhere nearby."

Nick nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, he'd have to be within a half-hour walking distance." He cut off Dylan's protest. "No one heard a car engine start, so unless he parked pretty far away—"

"Unusual caution for someone complacent enough to bring the hunt home."

"Exactly. Dylan, how'd you find the apartment the first time?"

"Pure luck. I stopped for petrol and picked up the scent."

"Really?" The questions in Nick's face were growing more obvious, but to his credit he stuck to the pertinent ones. "Think you could do it again?"

"Not if I had to search the whole city, but if we've narrowed it down…" He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Are you sure this guy can't go out in daylight? What's stopping him? What lets you do it? And don't shut down on me. It might be important."

"Sunscreen."

"What?"

"Sunscreen."

"Bullshit." The corner of Nick's mouth twitched.

"No. Not everyone has access to it. My researchers developed it; another firm produces it. The… _community _at the Gates dispenses it to friends. We like to keep quiet about it, though. There's not exactly an infinite amount of it."

Nick coughed, ineffectually trying to cover his smile with his hand.

"You're serious," he said.

Dylan shrugged and nodded. Nick smirked, grinned, snickered, and finally burst out laughing.


	14. The Enemy of My Enemy

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to post this. I was out of town last weekend and then I was so busy over the last week that I couldn't get to it. This coming Friday will see another chapter uploaded, though!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: The Enemy of My Enemy

Claire and Peg looked up at the guffaws of laughter from upstairs.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Peg said and sipped her tea, a stimulating Earl Grey and nothing Devon had had any contact with, Claire had been happy to announce. "I didn't know those two were so friendly."

"You mean you didn't know Dylan was so friendly with anyone." Claire arched a brow and blew over her own steaming cup.

"Well, I wasn't going to say it."

"That was Sarah and my doing. Emily's friends with Dana, so we arranged for the boys to drive together to the father-daughter dance. Sheer brilliance if I do say so." She thought of the Teresa woman. "Mostly."

"Sneaky," Peg said in an approving voice.

"I thought so. Dylan keeps to himself too much. It's not healthy."

"Does Nick know about you and Dylan?" Peg took another sip, exaggeratedly casual. Claire smiled and shook her head.

"What about us, Peg?"

"That you're vampires, obviously."

Claire laughed and shook her head as if the very idea was beyond ridiculous. "What?"

Peg gave her a patient and knowing smile.

"I broke a hex on you last night, Claire, one you shouldn't have been able to survive. Drop the act."

Claire stared at her incredulously for a few more seconds before letting her eyes dilate and fixing Peg with a predatory stare. Devon had figured it out, too, after all. Peg gazed back with the same unnervingly confident smile.

"Alright," Claire breathed and moved the hand that rested on the table a little closer to Peg. "What is this little suicide mission about, then?"

"I cast the bones this morning and they indicated I would need an ally."

"An ally? Against Devon?"

"Against something unpleasant." She made a disgusted noise. "Casting the bones is easy. Interpreting them is a bitch. I saw signs for change and a return to old ways. Maybe that's me practicing again." She shrugged. "Signs point to trouble on the horizon, and a need for allies. You sprang to mind. I hope I'm not being foolish coming here. Those herbs are on the up and up." She nodded to the patio door. "So are the charms. They'll help you and Dylan close ranks against Devon."

"You know, Peg, there are quite a few of us who, in my situation, would never let you leave their house knowing what you know."

Peg nodded thoughtfully and shifted forward in her seat, leaning on her elbows.

"Claire? There are quite a few of _us_ who would call up hungry spirits from the earth to pull you under, keep you there indefinitely, and feed your child to them in payment just for being what you are." She smiled benignly. "Good thing we're not like those people, huh?"

"Good thing." Claire leaned back, her eyes brown again, and wondered for the first time in fifty years if she would have the stomach to kill someone. "Does Mia know?"

"Yes. She knows almost everything I do." Peg shrugged and leaned back as well, her cup and saucer in her hands. "As a result, she's learned to be very good at keeping secrets. Now, are you really going to kill me with the chief of police upstairs? You might end up having to take him out, too. What would Buckley think of you putting his new pet down?"

"Are all witches this manipulative?"

"Who's manipulating? I'm just trying to be honest."

"How long have you known?"

"Since you moved in six years ago."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are. Your heart's pounding. You didn't know years ago. You found this out recently." Claire gasped and her eyes widened. She jabbed an accusatory finger in Peg's direction. "Devon told you!"

Peg sat up straight and plunked her cup down on the table.

"No, she—" she began, then relaxed and waved a hand. "Okay. She did. But I'm still on your side, Claire."

"Don't know why I want such a bad liar on 'my side'," Claire scoffed, and sipped her tea disdainfully.

"I am a consummate liar."

Claire let out a single, skeptical laugh and watched Peg with mirthful eyes over the rim of her teacup.

"When I say the fish was this big, people think it's an understatement," Peg insisted.

"I once convinced someone I was British royalty."

"My family _is_ royalty."

"Ha."

"I can turn people inside out."

"Really?"

"Ha."

"Oh!"

"Seriously, Claire. I like to think we're friends. Are we?"

"Of course." Claire shrugged and rested her cup on its saucer. She folded her hands on the table and caught Peg's eyes. "But I would like to make it perfectly clear that if you harm my daughter or anyone in my family in any way, I'll skin you alive." Claire smiled.

"Remind me to give you my Grandmama's notes on tanning human hide. She had a knack for it."

Claire blinked, breaking her stare, but was spared from coming up with a response by the sound of footsteps and muffled male voices in the foyer.

"Don't say anything to Dylan," Claire hissed. "I'll let him know later."

Peg nodded.

"We're going out," Dylan announced as he preceded a smirking Nick into the main room and turned toward the short hallway that led to the garage door.

"What? Now?" Claire smiled apologetically to Peg and rose from the table to follow her husband into the hallway. Dylan turned and addressed Nick.

"There's a duffel bag behind the dryer," he murmured and pointed at the utility room. "We'll need it." Nick nodded and stepped into the room.

"You're going hunting?" Claire asked, keeping her voice low. "I hope you're going after Devon."

"No, she's left the Gates and we don't know where she's gone. You remember the… man in Franklin that's been causing all the trouble?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's been very indiscreet. Three dead bodies and not even an attempt to cover it up."

"Oh."

"Nick thinks we might be able to deal with him today."

In the utility room, Nick grunted and staggered under the weight of a scuffed and worn duffel as he pulled it out from behind the boxy machine.

"Not to heavy for you, I hope?" Dylan asked innocently. Nick hefted the strap onto his shoulder and stood up straight.

"No problem, Banana Boat," he said. He nodded to Claire. "Wish us luck."

"I'd rather come with you."

"You've got Peg to deal with," Dylan said. "And Emily to pick up soon. See what you can find out about Devon from Peg."

"I'm not just going to sit by while—"

"Claire." Dylan stepped up to her and put both hands on either side of her face, cupping it. Nick ducked discreetly into the garage. "Why can't you just be safe for a few days?"

"It's no more safe for you than it is for me."

"Please. It will make me feel better after the last few days."

"Fine. This time."

"Thank you. See about Devon. I think Peg knows more than she's let on."

He kissed her neck and followed Nick through the garage door. She heard them talking before they climbed into the car.

"What do you got in here?" Nick asked.

"Everything we could possibly need."

"Were those chains behind the washer?"

Then the car doors slammed and the big garage door groaned as it rose, drowning out any further conversation.

Peg still sat at the table sipping her tea when Claire returned and resumed her seat. She folded her hands on the table.

"So, it seems Devon is out of town for the time being," Claire said conversationally.

"Really? Where to?"

"I don't know, but she's not in the Gates."

"Huh. For how long?"

"I don't know. Dylan spoke like he expected it to be more than a quick pop into Franklin. You…" She shrugged in exaggerated innocence. "Wouldn't happen to know where she lives, would you?"

"Maybe." Peg tipped her head back and forth, setting her curls bouncing. "I might have stopped by there last night to get your hex from her."

"Oh. How industrious."

Claire sipped her tea and gazed dreamily around the room while Peg frowned down at her own mug and tapped the rim with one fingernail.

"Okay," Peg said. "We'll take my car."


	15. Partners in the Chase Part I

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Partners in the Chase Part I

Nick reflected, upon seeing the multitude of houses, corner stores, and other possible hiding places for a vampire that was only _probably_ in the area, that his and Dylan's plan had sounded better at the house. His mood improved when Dylan eliminated the houses as a possibility—

"Wait, you mean that invitation stuff is _true_?"

"Yes. And it's damned hard to get one before dawn. I speak from experience."

Beat.

"So, say I was sleeping in my car…"

Corner stores and other public places were also ruled out. Most of those would have been closed at the time, forcing the vampire to break in. As the only crime scene in evidence was the original apartment complex where the latest two bodies had been found, and as the mystery vampire had already chosen an apartment as headquarters once, Nick and Dylan surmised it was most likely that he would do so again and proceeded to inspect each apartment complex and building that Dylan managed to enter.

They spent the time between searches devising possible plans of action. Nick was caught somewhere between being impressed and irritated by Dylan's ability to pick out a multitude of different contingencies and potential pitfalls for each plan proposed. For the first time he began to wonder precisely what the vampire _did_ at the biotech firm he worked for.

Dylan strolled through hallways in one building after another, one shoulder almost brushing the wall as he passed up one side of the hall and down the other. They found what they were looking for in the third building. As soon as Dylan stepped out of the car, his eyes widened and he turned his head this way and that as they walked up to the entrance. Like the two other buildings they had searched, this one did not require visitors to be buzzed in, and the two men simply walked inside.

"This might be the one," Dylan whispered. "I thought I smelled something outside."

"What are you doing?" Nick asked, watching his friend walk unusually close to the wall for the umpteenth time today. His curiosity had been growing over the last couple of hours and he decided to push the vampire's uncharacteristically communicative mood. Dylan glanced at him over his shoulder.

"I'll need to be close to the one he's in to smell him."

"You said you smelled him from a block away last time."

"Yes, but he'd been in the area for a while. He may have passed through here once hours ago and since then all the tenants have walked through on their way to work."

Nick sniffed, but all he could smell was stale cigarette smoke and mildew. They were halfway down the third floor hallway when Dylan picked up his pace and almost jogged to the next door, where he stopped and breathed deep, both hands pressed against the door.

"You found him?" Nick asked.

"Sh," he hissed, and continued in a whisper. "Yes, but there's a problem. The owner's still alive."

"That's a problem?"

"I can't get in." He turned back to the stairwell, tapped Nick's arm and beckoned him to follow. He spoke again only when they reached the stairwell and were nearly to the second floor landing, walking as he talked. "He must know other vampires are after him or he wouldn't take such a precaution. If that's the case, it would be safe to assume he's still got the owner in there with him."

"How did _he_ get in?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, his hands clasped behind his back. "Can I use your phone? Borrow a cup of sugar? There are ways, once it's late enough in the day."

"Great. Plan C?"

"Plan C."

"Hell."

At the car, Dylan popped the trunk, revealing the duffle bag from the house. He unzipped it and poked meditatively through the contents. Nick peered over his shoulder and tried to descry any secrets of vampire killing hidden within. There was a tool kit, a crow bar, several thick wooden dowels sharpened at one end, which Nick found interesting, two gray plastic boxes, one that he thought probably contained a handgun and ammunition, and another that was too slim to likely hold a gun. Knives, maybe? There was a coiled and tied length of black cord, an ax and a bottle of lighter fluid among other things. Nick shook his head.

"You could cause a lot of damage with this stuff," he observed.

"That's the idea."

"Doesn't this bother you?"

"What?"

"Hunting one of your own people down. I'm guessing you changed your mind about letting him live."

"He's turning people and abandoning them. Death's too good for him. Does it bother you? Your lot get a little funny about this sort of thing, don't you?"

"He killed three people," Nick said simply, noncommittally. It was a moot point. This had to be done for the greater good. _Yeah,_ he thought, _'Cause that line of reasoning worked so well last time._ He looked up, about to speak, to get back to business, when he noticed Dylan watching him closely, squinting in the sun.

"Have you ever killed before? In your profession, I'm sure…" he trailed off and shook his head, gesturing at Nick and leaving him to fill in the blank.

"Line of duty, yeah."

"But you've never planned it out before hand."

"Can't say that I have," he lied.

"Hm. I should bring up the possibility that this vampire is not the one we're looking for. The odds are against it, but it's possible."

"Huh." Nick frowned down at the implements of destruction in the trunk, his hands on his hips. He had not thought of that and wondered what it said about him that the vampire had been the one to point it out. "And if that's the case?"

"If we enter his home unannounced, he'll try to kill us regardless of his guilt or innocence of these particular crimes. We'll have to kill him either way, or be killed ourselves. I don't care one way or the other." He shook his head. "But I don't know how your lot think about these things. It's been too long." He shrugged. "Can I count on your backup if he does turn out to be the wrong one?"

Nick gazed up at the building. "No offense, but I'm gonna have to side with my species on this one and play the odds that it's the right one. Let's go."

Dylan smiled, approving, and that made Nick uneasy.

* * *

"And she said 'geas', you're certain about that?" Peg asked from the driver's seat. She slowed and stopped for a red light.

"Yes," Claire answered. "I remember because it was such an odd-sounding word. I was going to look it up, but then I couldn't remember what she'd said. What is a geas?"

"A geas is two spells in one. The first spell is a binding. It keeps you from doing something, possibly several things. The second is triggered if the first is broken, and that's what made you sick. It would have killed a human pretty quickly, but then a human probably couldn't have broken the first spell without help." She shrugged at Claire's puzzled frown. "Vampires are… difficult. For a human, the binding just falls into a category of things she would never do, like streaking or killing her mother. But vampires don't _have_ those kinds of constraints. You guys are pretty wild."

"I can honestly state that I have neither streaked nor killed my mother."

"But can you say it was completely off the radar?"

"Streaking? Yes."

"And your mother?"

"Well, she could be terribly shrill."

"See?"

"The light's green."

"Oh."

"What I don't understand is, why me?" Claire mused aloud. "Surely there's easier game. Is it the challenge?"

"You're not game," Peg answered. "Devon doesn't think that way. It's more personal." She shrugged. "Why you? Maybe she feels threatened. I'd like to think she's attacking you because you're an undead, blood-sucking bringer of death. As motives go, it's relatively benign. But I know Devon too well to think that's the case."

Claire shot Peg an owlish glare, the round, shaded lenses of her sunglasses masking her eyes. "'Bringer of death'," she muttered when she turned back to the window. "I'll bring _her_ death if she's not careful."

"Have you threatened her in any way lately? I would ask if you'd killed any of her friends, but we both know she doesn't have any." Peg exchanged a wicked smile with Claire.

"Any left, you mean. And, no, I didn't. Oh. I did snatch her parking space out from under her at the last Homeowner's Association meeting. She always takes the one right in front. It's the only one in the shade."

"I hate that. I think she puts a glamour on it to make it look like a handicap spot. Anyway, I don't think that's it. Devon may not have much of a sense of proportion when it comes to petty vengeance, but to kill you over a parking space?"

"And why would she come to the house? Seems rather suicidal if you ask me."

"She wanted to re-bind you, and because you're a vampire, she couldn't do it from a distance. It was a calculated risk. She is afraid of you, Claire."

"Good."

"No, not good. When she put the spell on you the first time, she was cocky, and look what happened. You broke the spell and even managed to implicate her when you did so. She barely kept her spell going. Now that she realizes the kind of trouble she's in, she'll be more careful." Peg shook her head as she turned onto the small lane that led to Devon's complex. "Not that her recklessness is a _good _thing precisely."

Peg pulled into a spot in the mostly-empty lot and cut the engine.

"Which unit?" Claire asked.

"B-one-twelve."

"Shall I break down the door or do you have a spell for that?"

Peg shot her a confused look. "I thought you could, I don't know, pick locks or something. You said you get me in."

"Well, yes. By breaking down the door."

"I can see we need to work on our communication," Peg observed with a wry laugh. "And no, I don't have any spells for unlocking doors."

"Well, that's alright." Claire unlatched the door and scooted in her seat.

"No, Claire." Peg touched her shoulder and Claire stopped, an eyebrow raised impatiently. "It's too noisy, and you might as well sign your name while you're at it because she'll know it was you. This is just reconnaissance. Judging by the spells she's been slinging around her own neighborhood lately, our best bet is to outsmart her rather than taking her on directly."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"Hm…" Peg tapped the steering wheel thoughtfully and gazed out the window. After a few minutes she nodded. "Okay. That's the leasing office over there. If you go in and ask for a tour, I could get behind the desk and find where they keep the spare keys. I'll have to neutralize the cameras, but I think I've got the stuff for it in the bag. I steal the right key and meet back up with you… Claire?"

Peg turned and found an empty seat where Claire had been, and the figure of the woman herself halfway across the parking lot to building B. Peg swore and followed. When she reached the shade of the covered walkway, Claire stopped and turned to wait for Peg to catch up.

"And what are you going to do if she's home?" Peg asked, a little breathless from her jog across the lot.

Claire hiked an eyebrow and gave Peg a miniscule smile. "I'll _outsmart_ her very hard in the face."

"And the cameras?"

"What cameras?"

"I don't know. That one?" Peg pointed. A tiny red light blinked at them from a camera mounted above a street lamp.

"Oh."

"If you'd waited a moment, I might have been able to disrupt their feed. As it is, Mia'll have to hack into the system." She shaded her eyes and looked up at the camera. "I hope they haven't bulked up security after the last time."

"Last time?"

"Long story. The short version is Phelps wanted more money than I could give him, and I figured blackmailing me would be awfully hard with no actual evidence."

"Ah. Phelps." The contempt in Claire's voice spoke volumes on what she thought of the former police chief. "The man could have retired from what he bilked off of Dylan and me alone."

"Tell me about it. Well, since it's bad luck to speak ill of the dead, I'm afraid I've got nothing else to say about him."

Claire chuckled and followed Peg around the corner of the building into a flower garden full of red, orange, and yellow blossoms. The buildings of the complex were built in pairs, each a mirror image of the one it faced and separated by the garden. The units on the ground floor all opened directly onto it, and the ones on the upper levels all had shaded balconies with a view of the courtyard.

Devon's unit was on the ground floor and exposed to possible observation from every unit in buildings A and B. Peg knocked first and when she received no answer, stepped back to give Claire room. The vampire paused to take her heels off before delivering a roundhouse kick to the door. The crack of wood echoed through the courtyard and seemed as loud as a gunshot to Peg. The door swung on its hinges, hit the wall inside, and bounced back half way. Peg grabbed the doorknob and pulled it closed as well as she could with the wood of the doorjamb splintered and the knob ready to fall out of the door completely.

"I hope no one—" Peg stopped and looked around in confusion. Claire had vanished.

"Hey!"

Peg whirled to face the new voice. An elderly man stood in the open doorway of the next unit over.

"Keep it down!" he ordered before turning and shuffling away into his unit, muttering about loud neighbors.

"Sorry," Peg called as he slammed the door. Claire peeked around the corner of the building and smiled blandly into Peg's glare.

"Well, it's not as if getting myself caught would help you in any way," she pointed out as she rejoined Peg by the broken door. She slipped her feet back into her pumps.

"Just let me know if someone else shows up."

"I hate lookout duty," Claire complained, but leaned against the wall next to the door and crossed her arms, willing to wait.

Peg pushed the door open again and entered. The place was spotless and filled with new and vaguely oriental furnishings and decorations in red and white. A quick look through the living room, kitchen, dining room and two bedrooms revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Peg saved the study for last, the blackout curtain hanging in front of it a clear signal that it was the most likely place to find what she was looking for, whatever that was.

When Peg had taken pity on a recently-divorced Devon seven years earlier and undertook to teach her about the world of magic, she had purposefully left out what she considered to be the most potent and dangerous kinds of magic. That Devon was now raising who-knew-what and casting geases on vampires – and making it stick – was a troubling development. It meant she had far more power than she could possibly have developed on her own. She had to have gotten more information somewhere, and Peg hoped to find that source of knowledge today.

The study was dark and Peg fumbled for her phone. She pushed a button and the screen lit up, illuminating the room in weak blue light, and revealing the candle and matchbox on the table. Once the candle was lit, Peg inspected the table closely and found only a few nicks on the surface to show that it had ever been used. She snorted in contempt and turned to the walls and the objects dangling by hooks and nails, white chalk circles behind them as if to keep their energies in check. Peg laughed out loud and took a bundle of sticks from the wall, turning it over in her hands.

"What is this about?" she asked the room. When no answer came, she turned and looked around the room with narrowed eyes. "I know you're there. I heard you when you sat on the wardrobe."

"BiTE mE, MaLlORy."

"That's not my name anymore."

"In ThAT CaSe, I _ReALly_ dOn'T HaVE tO Do wHAt yOu SaY."

"I got married."

"AnD DiVOrcED." The voice snickered. "HoW EmBarRaSsiNG . No WoNDer yOu'RE iN eXiLe."

"You haven't answered my question."

"SO?"

"What is all this Blair Witch crap on the walls? It's just sticks and grass and things. What have you got her doing?"

"IS ThERe a ReAsOn I ShOUld tELl YoU?"

"Yes." Peg turned fully to face the window and directed her words at a point just above it. "When I catch up to Devon and beat her at her own game, a game, I would like to point out, that _I_ taught her, I promise that I will send you back to where you came from."

"I wAs EXpeCtiNG a ThReAT aT LeAst."

"No threats. Only a bargain. If you answer my questions to my satisfaction, I will not grind you into dust and use you as a spell ingredient. Further, I won't trap you in a room with _actual_ barriers," she tossed the bundle of sticks onto the table, "And force you to do my bidding. Nor will I put you in a mason jar and keep you as a conversation piece on my coffee table and pass you down to my daughter and _her_ daughter, down through the ages, generation after—"

"FiNE! I'lL giVE YoU tHrEE QuEsTIoNs. BeTtEr AsK tHe RigHT OnES."

Peg rolled her eyes. Creatures like this always had such a flair for the dramatic that she wondered if they spent their off time hanging around opera houses and Shakespearean theaters.

"Why did Devon attack Claire Radcliff?"

"She bEliEVed MrS. RadCLifF WaS GoInG tO KiLl hEr."

"Well, I think I know where she got that idea. Good job on the self-fulfilling prophesy."

"ThAnK YoU. IT's a sPeCIaLtY oF MiNe."

"Where is she now?"

"At tHe uNmARkEd GraVe oF a Mr. ArlEn DaVIdSoN, dRUg DeALeR aND PiMP."

Peg tipped her head and considered her next question. Her invisible companion obviously wanted her to ask who Arlen Davidson was or why Devon was at his gravesite, so it probably had a perfectly unhelpful answer ready for either question. What would Gigi do?

"Hm. Let's see what's in here." Peg opened the doors to the wardrobe and found three spells hanging from hooks. What may have been dried blood flaked off the wood inside, and a decaying finger sat on the floor of the compartment. Two flies lifted off the finger and buzzed around the room. The drawers held nothing surprising: a few tools and other useful items.

"HeY. DoN'T yOu WaNT tO aSk a tHiRd qUEstiOn?"

"I will." Peg wanted to ask several questions, but knew that the thing would agree to answer only one more without further payment. As she had nothing she would be willing to offer the creature, and no other way to threaten it, she was stuck. "I'll be right back," she said.

In the kitchen Peg found a glass bowl and returned with it to the study. She dumped the three spells and the finger into it and set it on the table. The finger was obvious. Devon was going to put a geas on someone else. Dylan, probably.

"DoN'T YoU WaNt tO kNoW wHAt ThOSe ArE?"

"Hm." She held up the bunch of rotting feathers. "This looks like the beginnings of a love spell. It's not complete though. I guess she couldn't get Frank's..." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, _this_," she held up the bunch of dried plant stalks. "This is a completed anti-love spell. Probably on Vanessa. If it was on Frank, she'd never be able to complete the first spell. He must be getting frustrated, what with Vanessa having a 'headache'" Peg sketched air quotes, "Every night. But obviously not frustrated enough to go back to Devon. And as for this one," she pointed at the cat's head. "This is what she used to summon you."

"WeLl, DaMn."

Peg sat at the table. Two questions came to mind, but she could only ask one. She settled on the most pertinent one.

"How can I defeat you?"

"YoU cAn'T. I HaVe aCHiEvE mY OBjeCtiVe. NiCe DoiNG BuSinEsS WiD' Ya, NoW FuCk OfF."

"What do you mean? What objective?"

The creature snickered.

Peg frowned. She dropped the cat's skull on the floor. It cracked under her heel and the creature let out a sharp, wordless sound, and then Peg heard nothing more from it.


	16. Partners in the Chase Part II

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Partners in the Chase Part II

Dylan crouched by the door to the alleged vampire's unit, a small cloth case open beside his knee, displaying a neat collection of thin metal implements. Two were inserted in the lock on the doorknob as he manipulated them. The deadbolt was next and as soon as it snicked quietly back, he motioned to Nick, who stood as lookout at the entrance to the stairwell. The police chief had left his uniform shirt in the car and now wore only the white undershirt, as incognito as he could be on short notice. Dylan likewise had abandoned his belt, vest and dress shirt for the loose cotton one underneath in preparation for a fight.

"Where'd you learn how to pick locks?" Nick whispered as he approached.

"There was an incident involving a east-facing jail cell at five in the morning. I made a point of learning after that." He gathered up his tools and returned them to a pocket in the duffel that now sat against the wall next to the door.

"Is there a felony you haven't committed?"

"I can honestly say I have never pirated cable. Now, if he didn't come to the door after all that, he's probably asleep. Try to make as little noise as possible."

Nick pulled his gun out and held it pointed at the floor.

"If it comes down to it, the head or the heart?" he asked.

"Straight through the heart and don't miss."

Nick nodded and stepped quietly over the threshold and into a wall of hot, dry air. A radiator against the wall had been put on its highest setting.

The apartment was small and old with chipping white paint on the walls and cheap carpeting. A window was set in the far wall of the den and sheets had been duct taped over it, dimming the whole room. A few items of men's clothes had been idly thrown onto the couch and a bong sat out on the coffee table. The entertainment system across from the couch sported a TV, a stereo and two or three different gaming consoles. The place had the distinctive air of bachelor pad about it.

A short hallway led off to the left and the kitchen was visible to the right where Nick saw dirty dishes stacked in the sink and on the counter, but no owner. He passed into the living room again and stopped when Dylan hissed at him from the doorway and pointed to the window.

_Open it_, he mouthed. Nick nodded and holstered the gun. He untaped the sheets, the _scriiitch _of the glue separating from the wall making his heart pound and his palms sweat. Soon the sheets were down and he pulled the shades up, letting the afternoon sun stream into the room in a long rectangle that stretched toward the front door but ended a few feet short of it.

A soft sound of movement came from the hallway and was quickly followed by a faint clank. Nick froze and pulled his gun, ready to fire or make a break for the door. When no further noises issued from the hallway, he released a breath he had not been aware of holding and glanced at Dylan, who waved at him to return to the hallway. Nick shook his head and Dylan covered his face with his palms in frustration.

Nick paced toward the hallway, hyperaware of every tiny noise he made, from his quick breathing to the rustle of cloth and the faint squeak of his shoes as he walked. The hall was short and led to three doors, one directly ahead, and one on either side. The one to the right stood open and revealed the darkened bedroom, the bed only just visible in the gloom, along with the mounded shape on top of it.

The door straight ahead led only to a linen closet, but the door to the left led to the bathroom. The lights were off. As soon as he opened the door something large moved on the floor and whimpered. Nick flicked on the light, illuminating a heavyset young man in jeans and a T-shirt. His mouth had been taped shut and his arms were wrapped around the base of the toilet, his hands held together with a plastic zip tie. Dark purple bruises at his neck and inside his elbow almost obscured the double-puncture wounds there. He squinted up at Nick in surprise.

Nick holstered the gun and before the young man could make any noise, he flashed his badge and held a finger to his lips, which seemed to calm the man. He mouthed _I'll be back_ and returned to the doorway where Dylan held up his hands expectantly – _Well?_

"Scissors," Nick hissed and the vampire ducked to the side for a moment to rifle through the duffle before handing over a pair of pinking shears.

Nick snuck back down the hall and made shushing motions at the young man who mewled pitifully and pulled on the zip tie as if he would break it before Nick could cut it. As soon as his hands were free, the man tried to stand and pull the tape off his mouth at the same time, but just as he got his feet under him, his head lolled forward and he fell against the toilet, making the lid clank. _Blood loss,_ Nick thought, and grabbed the man around the midsection to hold him in place before he made more noise. A rustling of sheets sounded through the open door way and Nick fervently wished he had turned the light out.

After a few heart-pounding seconds, the man regained his balance and used the toilet to push himself onto his feet. Nick hooked the man's arm over his neck and got him moving toward the door. No further noise came from the bedroom, although the man beside him walked heavily, his bare feet thumping on the carpet. Nick decided speed had become more important than stealth and hustled the man down the hallway and into the den as quickly as he could, struggling under his weight.

Dylan practically danced in the doorway, waving at Nick to hurry up. At the threshold Nick passed the man off to Dylan, who moved aside to ease him onto the floor of the hall and began to draw an invitation from him.

The bedroom door banged open, unseen, and Nick jumped for the relative safety of the hallway. He made it but a hand grabbed him painfully tight around his right bicep and yanked back. Dylan moved faster than Nick could see and was suddenly there, both his hands wrapped around a man's wrist where it stuck out into the hallway, sparking a ludicrous tug of war across the threshold.

The newcomer appeared to be in his twenties with dark, shaggy hair and dressed in a pair of sweat pants and no shirt. He sported a multitude of fading tattoos on his chest and arms, and more piercings than Nick could count. He was bigger than Dylan, taller and with broader shoulders. He was a little chubby but with obvious muscle under the fat. Without Nick's help, Dylan would almost certainly lose the contest. The newcomer's eyes went black and he snarled at Dylan.

The struggle was nearly silent as if by mutual agreement of all parties that to be caught by nosy neighbors would be disastrous. The vampires breathed little and lightly, putting all effort into the tug of war.

Dylan braced a foot against the doorjamb and hauled back. Nick did the same. He groped for his gun with his left hand and swiveled his hip around so that the tattooed vampire could not reach gun himself. His shoulder burned. He jerked back and forth, like a toy between squabbling toddlers. The only sounds were his grunts of pain and effort and the shuffle of feet against carpet and wood. The young man gazed up at them dazedly.

"Justin? What the hell are you doin'?" he asked.

"Nothing, Stan," the other vampire said in an incongruously level voice. Then to Dylan, "If you want him that bad, we could just split him."

"Hey!" Stan said.

"Not you, _him_." The vampire nodded at Nick.

"Invite me in," Dylan hissed at the young man.

"I don't think you want to do that, Stan," Justin said.

"You bit me, you asshole!" Stan accused the vampire.

"Yeah, but—"

"And you tied me to a toilet!"

"Okay, I'm sorry, Stan. Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry. It's not like I killed you."

"Stan!" Dylan growled.

"I mean, Jesus, Justin, the toilet?"

"Can we discuss this later?" Nick asked, his voice shrill in his own ears. His arm was going numb. "Stan, let him in!"

"I said I was sorry," Justin said. "I wasn't gonna kill you, man, honest."

"He's lying," Dylan said, still tugging on the vampire's wrist. "He only let you live to keep me out. Let me in and I'll get rid of him for you."

"Stan!" Nick ground out between clenched teeth. "He wants to kill me, you, and anyone who—argh – gets in his way."

"Okay, that's just not true," Justin said, and squeezed Nick's arm.

Nick stopped reaching for his gun and just threw his weight back in desperation.

"Hey!" the vampire complained as Nick's move exposed a few more inches of his arm to the hallway.

Between one eye blink and the next, Dylan's eyes grew dark and he gave the vampire a sharp smile. He yanked the wrist up, momentarily unbalancing Justin, and ducked over it to bite down hard on the arm. His teeth dug deep and he worried at it like a dog, letting out a low growl. The other vampire grunted in pain and released Nick, who stumbled back and nearly fell.

"Alright," Justin said. "They're all yours, you greedy bastard. Now leggo."

Feeling surged painfully back down Nick's arm and he gritted his teeth as he ran to stand over Stan, whose eyes had gone unfocused as he watched the continuing tug of war by his apartment. Nick knelt and shook Stan's shoulder, getting his bleary attention.

"Stan," he said in as calm a voice as he could muster, "See my friend over there? You need to invite him in. Now."

"He's one of 'em."

"Yeah, I know. Fight fire with fire, right? Invite him in, and we can clean this up right now."

"Nick, I can't keep this up all day," Dylan called. "Why don't we just go back to plan A?"

"What was plan A?" Nick asked.

"We wait for him to come out and kill him then."

"What the hell?" Justin demanded of Dylan, his voice still quiet but noticeably higher in pitch. "Same team, man! Same team!"

Stan looked up at Justin one last time, licked his lips and nodded. "Fine," he muttered. "Go in."

"Dylan? You get that?"

"Got it." Dylan gave a feral smile and released Justin's arm.

Justin lost his balance and stumbled back, arms pin wheeling. He fell flat on his back across the narrow stripe of sunlight behind him. The skin on his chest and stomach smoked and blistered instantly. He shrieked and scurried swiftly away toward the still-shadowy kitchen.

"Christ," Nick muttered.

Dylan took the time to pull the axe and one of the wooden dowels from the bag before slipping past Nick and into the apartment with a polite "Pardon me." He stood in the den for a moment, checking the room out. Painful pins and needles made Nick's right hand twitch, and his fingers felt as thick as sausages so he picked the crowbar up with his left hand. He entered the den and kicked the door closed behind him, leaving Stan in the hallway. Dylan pushed a button on the stereo and turned the volume up. Loud rock music flooded the apartment as the vampire strode toward the kitchen, his eyes black and his face bloody and anticipatory.

Justin appeared at the kitchen door, his skin red and cracked, with a large kitchen knife in his hand. He rushed Dylan, his arm a blur as he slashed twice and two red lines opened up on Dylan's chest and arm. Ignoring what little blood soaked into his shirt, Dylan blocked Justin's third swipe. He brought the axe up too quickly for Nick to see. A moment later Justin yelped and his arm hung limply from a gaping wound in his shoulder. The music drowned out the noise the vampires made, masking it from those tenants who had not gone to work today. Nick wondered how often Dylan had used such a method to hide human screams.

Justin landed a kick in Dylan's gut that lifted him off the floor and sent him several yards into the den and through the patch of sunlight. His weapons clattered to the floor near Justin's feet. Nick stepped forward to drive the straight end of the crowbar into Justin's gut, throwing his weight behind it to make up for his weakened arm. Where a normal man would have doubled up and fallen, Justin only let out a strangled cry as the metal dug into his burned skin and took a half-step back. He recovered quickly and backhanded Nick with his one good arm. Later, Nick would not remember sailing through the air, only the hard landing and that he hit the wall first and the floor second. It hurt – his whole body throbbed to the beat of the music – but the move delayed Justin and now Dylan had nearly reached the wooden dowel. Justin saw and dove for it, too. The two vampires rolled on the floor and grappled for control of the thing

Dylan threw his weight to the side and tried to roll Justin back into the sunlight, but the other vampire had weight and reach on him and instead ended up straddling his waist. Justin reared back and, before his opponent could react, slammed his head into Dylan's forehead and raised the blunt end of the dowel so that the point pressed into his chest. Justin laughed and leaned forward, using his weight to force the dowel down. Dylan hissed and snarled. Nick peeled himself off the floor and reached for the crowbar.

"That was a neat trick," Justin said conversationally around a grimace of effort. "Going through the sunlight and not getting burned. If you tell me how you did it, maybe I'll let you go."

"I would," Dylan returned, "If my friend weren't right behind you with a prybar."

Nick jammed the crowbar into the shrinking gash on Justin's shoulder. The vampire cussed and roared. He turned to snarl at Nick, giving Dylan the opportunity to shift the point up and away from his chest. Justin turned his attention back to the other vampire just in time for Dylan's fist to connect with his nose. Justin reeled back, a hand to his nose and blood dripping from between his fingers onto Dylan's face. Dylan shifted his weight and bucked, throwing Justin off and to the side. It did not quite force him into the sun, but it trapped him between it and his attackers. Nick took a moment to trade the crow bar for the axe that still lay abandoned a few feet away while Dylan flipped onto his feet, grabbing the dowel as he did. Dylan grinned wickedly at Justin and his tongue flashed out to lick a little of the other vampire's blood from his lips. For the first time, Justin began to look scared.

"Okay, man," he said, putting a hand out, palm forward. "Let's talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about," Dylan said. "This is my city and you're poaching."

"Didn't see your name on it."

Dylan showed his teeth.

"Okay, okay. My bad. You can have the city. That's cool."

"Barbara Jansen," Nick said. "Remember?" He gave Dylan a sharp look, annoyed that he was turning this into some vampire turf war instead of a murder investigation. _Execution_, whispered an accusatory voice in the back of his head.

Justin's eyes flicked over to Nick, then back to Dylan. Apparently the human was barely worth noticing.

"Barbara?" Justin looked genuinely puzzled for a moment before memory washed over his face. "Wait. That hot cougar from the other night? Man, she's not dead. I turned her. No worries."

"She's been autopsied, asshole," Nick said.

"She'll get over it." Justin turned his attention back to Dylan and pointed at Nick. "Who is this guy? You giving him a test run before you turn him?" He looked thoughtful. "That's actually not a bad idea. Hey, so seriously, how'd you do that trick with the sun? 'Cause that would take care of the one hitch in the plan." Justin's eyes darted from one man to the other in barely suppressed glee.

Dylan sighed and straightened out of his fighting stance. "Oh, no."

"What?" Nick asked, looking from one vampire to the other.

"He's…" Dylan shook his head and put a hand out to stop Justin from saying anything. "Justin, I do not want to hear what your plan is."

Justin grinned. "No, no, no. You gotta hear this. Okay, okay. Get this. Army of the undead."

Nick gaped and Dylan rubbed his eyes.

"No, really," Justin continued, nonplussed at his audience's reaction. "Hear me out. There's no reason we shouldn't take over the world, man. Think about it, what's the one thing they've got that we don't? Numbers."

"Are you familiar with the concept of critical mass?" Dylan asked in a tired voice.

"Huh?"

"Predator to prey ratios?"

"Um…"

"Who would deliver the mail?"

Without warning, Dylan lunged forward and plunged the dowel into Justin's chest. He shook his head as Justin blinked down at the wood sticking out of his body in horror. Nick stepped back as Justin fell heavily to his knees and finally collapsed onto the floor. He bled little. Nick frowned at Dylan.

"'Army of the undead'? That would be funny if he hadn't meant it."

Dylan pushed the power button on the stereo, cutting the music off abruptly and leaving the room in ringing silence.

"Agreed."

"Should I be worried about this?" Nick asked. "Yeah, this guy was an idiot, but…" He shrugged. The idea was ridiculous but he'd learn to accept a number of ridiculous things in the last couple of weeks.

Dylan picked up the axe.

"No," he said. "You needn't worry. Every once in a while someone tries, but they haven't succeeded yet." He toyed with the axe nervously before letting it hang limply at his side. "It's a very human thing to want, really, and only young ones like that are still human enough to want it. They still think they can obtain power in the same way as they could before, and it's not so. We're an unruly bunch." He shrugged. "Eventually he would find his army composed of deserters or mutineers. Assuming someone like me doesn't come along to pick it apart from the outside." He nudged the body with his toe. "Hmph. You know, they always go right out and get tattoos these days. You would think someone would tell them they fade away."

Nick wiped sweat from his forehead. "Hot in here," he commented.

"Yes, well, the lower body temperature takes some getting used to. The young ones like to turn the heat up." He surveyed the carnage, hands on hips and businesslike. He nodded. "Right. I'll get the cleanup started if you'll find something to wrap the body in. We'll take it to the roof, let the sun do the rest."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I was kinda hoping he would turn to dust or something."

Dylan's answer was interrupted by Stan's knock at the door. Nick opened it for him and assured the young man that it was safe to enter. Stan stared at the skewered corpse and his face turned a funny shade of grayish green before he ran for the bathroom, one hand tight over his mouth. Dylan picked up the crowbar and pointed it at Nick.

"You can deal with that."

"No way," Nick protested. "I'm on body duty. You deal with him."

"No, I do not deal well with bystanders."

"We killed his friend. What the hell am I supposed to say to him?"

"How should I know?"

"Hey, you're the one with experience here."

Dylan spread his hands and looked down at himself and then back at Nick, encompassing in the gesture the blood, fangs, dark eyes and his generally frightful appearance.

"If you'd put the teeth away, you'd be less scary," Nick observed, but he turned toward the hallway, accepting the short straw.

"Nick," Dylan called after him. "This has to be kept quiet. If the others find out, they'll kill him."

Nick made shushing motions at him. The kid was scared enough already. The last thing he needed was a death threat hanging over his head. In the bathroom, Stan sat on the closed toilet lid and stared blindly at the shower curtain.

"I'm not gonna tell anyone," he said as Nick entered. Apparently he had heard Dylan's warning. "I mean, who's gonna believe me?"

"Yeah, that's probably for the best." He stood awkwardly for a moment before adding, "Sorry about your friend." He winced. What a stupid thing to say.

"We weren't friends. He was actually kind of a douche. I just bought weed from him sometimes." Stan blinked dazedly up at Nick. "You're a cop. I probably shouldn't have said that, huh?"

"Franklin's outside my jurisdiction."

"Okay." He turned back to the shower curtain. "Think you could give me a minute?"

"Yeah. Oh, where are the trash bags?"

"Kitchen. Pantry."

"Thanks."

In the den, Nick frowned at a strange scene. Dylan had disappeared and Justin's body had been propped upside down on the couch so his head and arms trailed limply onto the floor. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. Nick stared incredulously – _never move the body_ – then remembered that he had been tasked with finding an efficient means of doing just that. He shook his head again, banishing traitorous little thoughts about slippery slopes and abuse of power. On a hunch he checked Justin's neck and found two distinct punctures there.

"It's not as if he'll be missing it," Dylan said.

Nick started, feeling a little guilty, as if he had pried too much. Dylan stood in the kitchen doorway, blue-eyed and freshly washed except for the new tears and rust-colored stains in his shirt. He wiped his hands on a towel.

"Guess not," Nick agreed. Dylan stood as if waiting for him to say something, but the police chief said nothing further as he slipped past the vampire and into the kitchen.

He found the trash bags where Stan said they would be and he and Dylan set to work wrapping the body up in them and cleaning up as much blood as they could. Stan reappeared unexpectedly and helped, silent and pale. He was polite enough, but distant, and Nick noticed he never let Dylan out of his sight and stayed as far away from him as the small apartment allowed. For his part, Dylan hardly acknowledged Stan's presence and seemed far less comfortable with the living reminder of the afternoon's activities than the dead one.

Nick traded phone numbers with Stan as a precaution. He wanted to be able to warn the man if the other vampires made him a target. Meanwhile Dylan disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes, a small bottle retrieved from the duffle tucked discreetly in his palm, and Nick supposed even super-sunscreen had to be reapplied after exercising. When Stan saw them off at the door, Justin's body slung over Dylan's shoulder in a fireman's carry, he seemed more grateful that they were leaving than for anything else they had done.

The stairwell led up to the flat roof, still bathed in sunlight except for patches of shade here and there cast by the air conditioning unit or the boxy structure whose only purpose appeared to be to frame the stairwell and door.

They laid the body out and it immediately began to smoke and burn. Within seconds, the skin had blackened and peeled back. The men retreated from the smell to the shade by the stairwell. Nick leaned back against the brick as Dylan sat on the ground.

"How long's this gonna take?" Nick asked.

"Less than an hour."

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself in there," Nick observed. Dylan shrugged, his attention still on the smoldering bodies.

"I don't often get to cut loose these days."

"I've been meaning to ask you something."

Dylan made a disgusted noise and leaned his head back against the brick.

"What?" he asked resignedly.

"It's about Teresa. Why'd you kill her?"

"I should think that was obvious."

"Okay, yeah, she was this close to shooting me and maybe going after my family, too, and I'm still grateful, don't get me wrong. But…" He shook his head. "Dylan, you can move faster than I can see. You could have grabbed the gun or, hell, even distracted her. The gun wasn't much of a threat to you, was it? So why kill her?"

Dylan stared at the ground, his face tight.

"And then you pulled me through a window and threw me across my own car without giving me a chance to explain about my officer at your house."

Dylan winced.

"My point is… there's this violence in you. You're really good at hiding it but it's just under the surface there and I can see the day coming when it becomes a problem."

"I told you you're not in any danger from me."

"Yeah, but you're full of it. You haven't been honest about who you are or what you've done since I met you. I ask you about it and you turn it around on me. You won't answer straight questions and when you do, you lie." Nick held a hand up, cutting off Dylan's protest. "I get why you don't want to tell me much. I understand your need for secrecy. Thing is, I can't just stop wondering about it, so I can also see the day coming when that becomes a problem for you."

Dylan nodded as if the same thought had occurred to him.

"I need assurances from you that if and when one of us does something stupid that the other one can't ignore, that it stays between you and me." He pointed at Dylan then at himself. "I need to know my family and my officers are safe from you if circumstances change."

Silence stretched as Dylan considered Nick's short speech. The bodies sizzled nauseatingly and made soft popping noises like logs in a fire. The breeze carried away wisps of smoke. Finally Dylan nodded.

"You've probably already figured out that vampire promises aren't worth much," he said. "But I can tell you this, _honestly_, that my people tend to be direct. If there is a problem between you and me, I will go after you and no one else." He squinted up at Nick. "If other adults involved themselves, then there are no guarantees. As for your children, my… _family_ have always operated under a strict no children policy. I'll leave them alone regardless of circumstances."

"Thank you."

"I'd regret killing you, you know. Can't say that about many people." He cleared his throat. "Can I expect the same of you? That Claire and Emily are left out of any unpleasantness between us?"

"You got it." Nick offered his hand and Dylan shook it.

* * *

Kat Russo watched the two men emerge from the building from her vantage point inside her car half a block away. The taller one, and apparently the owner of the BMW, popped the trunk and dropped the duffle bag inside before circling around to the driver's side. She frowned and tapped a finger on the steering wheel as they pulled away from the curb.


	17. Repercussions

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Repercussions

"What does that mean, 'achieved its objective'?" Claire asked. "Emily, stop that. We do not blow bubbles in our drinks in public."

Emily giggled but complied. By the time their trip to visit Devon's home was complete, it was time to pick Emily up from school. With the girl in tow, the women decided to run by the spa for more reconnaissance and, finding it locked, closed, and gritty with mustard seed, now sat at the café nearby puzzling over their findings. Every so often the breeze would shift and the hair-curling stench of mustard seed wafted their way from the spa, though Peg appeared not to notice it.

"I don't know," Peg said and stirred her coffee thoughtfully. "Creatures like that are usually out to just cause trouble. Maybe that's what it meant."

"Creatures like what?" Emily asked, listening to the grownups' conversation now that the fun with her chocolate milk had been curtailed.

"Auntie Peg saw a demon today," Claire told her.

"Woah." Emily looked at Peg, awed. "Really? What'd it look like?"

"I didn't actually see it," Peg admitted. "They're usually invisible. This was more of an imp than a demon anyway. A trickster spirit."

"Oh." Emily sat back in her seat, visibly disappointed.

"'Oh'?" Claire asked in only half-feigned indignation. "That's all you've got to say? 'Oh'? An imp isn't good enough? Children today. In my day we'd have taken an imp and been grateful for it." She poked Emily in the nose, making her laugh.

"Actually, creatures like that are witchery one-oh-one," Peg said. "My grandmother lured one out of the woods once to show me. It tried to convince me it was the ghost of some tragically murdered someone or other." She shrugged. "They manipulate, cause a ruckus and disappear. I would have guessed it found her, if she hadn't obviously summoned it. Devon's a prime target. Unhappy, petty, quick to seek vengeance for minor slights, real or imagined."

A car drove by and a mustard-scented breeze washed over them. Claire sneezed.

"You really can't smell that?" she asked as she wiped her nose. "Ugh. Horrid stuff. So, that's it then? It got what it wanted and it'll be on its way?"

"Actually, that's what's got me wondering. It didn't really cause any chaos, did it?"

"Seemed fairly chaotic on my end."

Peg shook her head. "A little localized pain and suffering isn't enough to get these guys out of bed in the morning. They like to see things fall apart, but nothing really did." She shrugged. "Unless it was called to do something specific. Of course whatever Devon may have wanted it for, it clearly took her for a ride. And there was that thing about… oh, what was his name? Arlen something. Davidson? Yeah. Arlen Davidson."

"Arlen Davidson?" Claire frowned.

"You know the name?"

"It sounds familiar…" She shook her head. "I think I've heard it, but I'm not sure where."

"Well, if you think of it, let me know, because apparently Devon is at his gravesite." Peg tipped her head and gazed at Claire. "An unmarked grave. One of yours, maybe?"

Claire gave Peg a bland smile. Peg held her hands up in surrender, letting that particular sleeping dog lie. Emily looked back and forth between the adults in confusion. Peg stood.

"I'll be back," she announced. "Got to visit the little witches' room."

As soon as she disappeared inside the café, Emily turned to her mother.

"Mom? What was she talking about? Did someone die?"

"Of course not, sweet. Drink your milk."

"Oh, c'mon, Claire. You should be honest with your kids."

Claire's head snapped around and she suppressed the urge to show her teeth. Christian sat at the next table, comfortable in the shade of the trees that lined the sidewalk, his legs stretched out in front of him and a smug smile on his face. Dark glasses hid his eyes. Claire felt awkward and guilty, feelings that amplified to irritation with the added stress of Emily's presence.

"Go away," Claire said. "If I haven't returned your phone calls by now, what makes you think I want to talk to you in person?"

"Ouch." He put his hand over his heart. "Now you're just teaching little Emily here bad manners." His smile became more natural when he craned his neck to see the girl on Claire's other side. "Hey, sweetie. Remember me? I'm your Uncle Christian."

Emily looked to her mother, unsure how to react. She had always been taught to be polite toward strangers, but with her mother uncharacteristically hostile toward this man, Emily was at a loss. He seemed to expect an answer, though, so Emily shook her head silently at him.

"Oh, well I was there when your mom and dad brought you home. How old are you now? Eight?"

"Nine."

"Hush, Emily. What are you doing here?" Claire hissed at him. "They're not supposed to let people in unless they're guests."

"What? I'm looking for a house. Nice lady named Vanessa showed me three different McMansions today."

Claire snorted. "You are not moving in here."

"Why not? Okay, sure the people are snobby and I'd probably get lost every day, what with the streets all looking the same, and I hear there's a no—" He glanced at Emily. "H-U-N-T-I-N-G rule in effect, and Vanessa said something about Homeowner's Association meetings? But…" He frowned and sniffed. "Do you smell mustard? Anyway, I'm sure it's everything you've ever dreamed of."

"As a matter of fact, it is. I'm perfectly happy here. With Dylan. Now will you kindly _leave_."

"Oh, that reminds me. I wanted to ask you to dinner."

"Ugh." Claire dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned back around.

"No, hear me out. I just wanted to explain myself."

"Ignore him, dear," she whispered to Emily. "He's just trying to annoy Mummy."

"I know how to spell," Emily grumbled. "I'm going to be in the spelling bee."

"Okay, Claire? If you don't come to dinner – wait, you're in a spelling bee? That is adorable. Good luck, kid. Anyway. Claire. If you don't come to dinner with me, I'll tell Dylan what we've been up to."

"You don't even have his phone number."

"Actually I met up with him the other night. We traded numbers. He also gave me your address and invited me over. Trusting, huh? This place must be cushy. I mean, to give me unhampered access to your _house_. When you're _sleeping_. Man."

Claire froze. She turned around again, trying unsuccessfully to think of something to say, just in time to see a white splat of bird droppings fall onto Christian's shoulder. He frowned down at it and then glared up at the tree overhead. Claire followed his gaze. Dozens of crows crowded the branches of the trees overhead and lined the sign and roof of the café, crowding and jostling each other and squawking softly. Most seemed to have one eye tilted toward Christian.

Suddenly one of the crows lifted off its perch and dove at Christian's head, raking its clawed feet forward. The vampire ducked and swiped at it, but missed. Two more crows rose in a burst of black feathers and swooped toward Christian as the first made a graceful arc in the air and returned to its original branch. It turned around on its awkward legs and watched the proceedings in avian amusement. Two more birds dove at Christian, this time driving him from his seat.

"Goddamn birds!"

"Christian! Language!" Claire chided, laughing.

He stood and swatted at the birds as three more joined in the fun, taking turns to plunge toward the vampire and snatch at his hair and clothes. The ones in the trees began cawing raucously, cheering their brethren on. One crow slowed down long enough to try to snatch Christian's sunglasses from his face and the vampire hit it backhanded. It struck the pavement near Claire's feet and lay still. The birds fell silent as the last ones returned to their branches.

Christian smirked nastily at them and turned back toward Claire.

"Nice wildlife."

Claire, her eyes still on the birds, took Emily's hand and stood, their wrought iron chairs scraping on the concrete, startlingly loud in the sudden hush. She put the girl behind her and inched toward the café door where Peg stood and watched among a small crowd of café patrons. A handful of people in the street had stopped to watch the show and they, like the birds, stood in anticipatory silence. Christian glanced nervously at them all, uncomfortable at being the center of attention.

In an explosion of wings and black feathers, the birds burst into flight. They formed a black whirlwind around Christian, a dozen at a time raking their claws across his face and hands, their hoarse cries becoming screams. Emily clutched at Claire's waist. Christian swore and retreated at a run, racing for his car. The birds followed.

Peg came to stand behind Claire.

"That sounded like blackmail," Peg said in a low voice.

Claire nodded.

"That's the second time in as many months."

Nod.

"Did I hear something about H-U-N-T-I-N-G?"

"Only in the context of…" Claire shrugged. "Not."

"That's good. Because if you were doing that _here_, there would probably be severe karmic repercussions that you might not have considered."

"Karmic repercussions?" Claire did not like the sound of that at all. She turned her head to see Peg's face.

"Yes. The Gates is very protected. No one gets in without permission – an invitation, if you will. Of course, to harm someone to whom you've given an invitation would be par for the course for someone like you, except that you're living like one of us, with a kid, a house, and so on. That means you're subject to the same cosmic rules as we are. Harming a guest brings severe bad luck, Claire. Some might even call it a curse." Peg smiled and patted her shoulder, oblivious to Claire's growing alarm. "Not that you've got anything to worry about, since you were only speaking in the context of… _not_. From what I hear, you were very nice to that contractor who almost ran Emily down. Patched him up and everything. Good for you."

"Oh. Thank you." She cleared her throat. "Peg? How do you think Franklin fits into this karma business?"

"It's all the same. How can you be one thing at home and another in Franklin?" Her tone softened. "You can't ride the fence forever."

Claire nodded. She put a hand on Emily's shoulder and pressed the girl protectively into her side.

* * *

Dylan pulled up to the Medical Examiner's Office. Both men had cleaned up as well as they could in a gas station restroom several miles from Stan's apartment. Dylan noticed Nick's hands had stopped shaking around the time he put his uniform shirt back on, and reflected that the cop would probably make a smashing vampire.

"This won't take long," Nick said.

"Mm. I've got an errand of my own to run. It will probably take longer than yours. Why don't I meet you at that coffee shop we passed a block back?"

"What are you going to do?"

"None of your business, I'm afraid."

"Great. Don't take all afternoon."

Nick climbed out of the car and disappeared inside. Dylan pulled away, one hand tugging his phone out of his pocket. He thumbed up the speed dial.

"Christian! Glad I caught you awake. I wanted to cash in that rain check. Still up for a hunt?"

* * *

"You sure he's around here?" Christian looked dubious. They were back in Stan's neighborhood, but Dylan pulled in behind a different apartment complex, one that had a conveniently secluded alley behind it.

"As sure as I can be, considering I didn't hear the entire conversation. I'm certain Monahan said six o'clock, so it stands to reason he'd be in the area. If he's not here…" Dylan shrugged. "Then he's not here. We'll get a drink." He glanced over at the other vampire. "Looks like you need one. I wasn't aware house hunting was so stressful."

"Yeah, well, not all of us are so comfortable in the sun, even with the sunscreen." That was a lie. What had he gotten into that left him nervous and glancing over his shoulder? Had Claire finally recalled how very much she had always disliked him and made mischief of her own? He liked that idea.

Dylan pulled the switch to pop the trunk and got out of the car. Christian followed him. After his phone call, Dylan had picked his friend up on a busy street corner. It seemed he was wary enough to avoid being with Dylan in private until after he had sized up his mood. No telling when he would find out about Claire, Dylan supposed bitterly. He circled around to the trunk and unzipped the duffle, shuffling around for the case holding all the knives.

"Yes, it took some getting used to, I don't mind telling you," he said conversationally as he popped the latches on the case. "See anything you liked?"

"Hell, I don't know. All those houses look the same to me." Christian frowned up at a lone blackbird perched on a telephone wire. "Hey, does that bird look like it's watching us?"

Dylan could hardly believe his luck. For one or two seconds, Christian's back was to him, and his attention was elsewhere. He even obligingly tilted his head up. Dylan pulled a knife from the case – he always kept them well-sharpened – and in a swift motion, put a bracing hand against the back of Christian's neck, and swiped the knife across his throat.


	18. Sabotage

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Sorry I didn't get this up last night, for anyone who went looking for it yesterday. It was a long workday and I crashed as soon as I got home.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Sabotage

Peg dropped Claire off and returned home. She could think of only one reason Devon would be by anyone's unmarked grave, and that would be more necromancy. Death magic was always more powerful after dark, and assuming Devon had not crossed too many time zones to get to the grave, Peg thought she could stop her before she caused any more damage.

She left a note for Mia instructing her to find any video of Peg and Claire's infiltration of Devon's apartment and remove it from the Gates' security records and that she was not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. While she would have preferred teaching her daughter another trick tonight, Peg needed to start now and Mia was still out. She climbed the stairs to the top floor and pulled the cord that dangled from the trap door to the attic. The stairs _sproinged_ as they unfolded.

The attic was wide, about half the size of the floor below it, but with a low ceiling that peaked down the approximate center of the room and sloped gently to either side. Even at its greatest height Peg stooped to walk. A bare bulb with a pull string provided flickering and insufficient illumination. An ancient and yellowing trunk sat under a tiny window set in the far wall, the only object in the room.

Several years ago, Peg had left the heavy thing right next to the trap door and no one had entered the attic since. She wondered why the trunk chose to sit under the window. Was it trying to escape?

Peg picked her way across the floor, avoiding the insulation by stepping on the up-ended wooden slats that ran the length of the attic. The trunk was too heavy to move by herself, so she left it where it sat, where it apparently wanted to sit, and only retrieved what she had come looking for.

* * *

The house was empty when Dylan came home. He frittered away the rest of the afternoon and evening, trying to absorb himself in work so he would not have to think about Christian and what it meant that he had approached Claire first, and that Claire had apparently been so eminently approachable that she had not told Dylan about it. He paced. He worked. He made phone calls. He left early to pick up Nick.

Luckily, Nick had managed to palm the key card and was ready to go.

Dylan drove distractedly out of town, only turning on the headlights when Nick reminded him to. He tried to be sociable, and talked politely about inconsequential things until Nick finally shook his head and said, "Okay, what?"

"What 'what'?"

"What's got you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird."

"Exactly. You're acting like we're out to go get a beer, not to mop up after an irresponsible vampire and it's driving me crazy. So stop it."

"It's nothing."

"Whatever. At least slow down a little."

Dylan snorted.

"See, that?" Nick pointed to him. "_That's_ normal. And there are deer out here. You nail one going this fast, you'll kill us both. Well, you'll kill me, anyway. You, I don't know."

"What's the point of making a vehicle capable of going a hundred and forty miles an hour if it I'm never allowed to actually _do_ it?" Dylan complained, but slowed to within ten miles an hour of the actual speed limit.

Nick pointed at him. "You had a fight with Claire."

"I did not have a fight with Claire," he protested, then added silently to himself, _Yet_. He sighed. "It's just someone trying to get under my skin and having a great deal more success with it than I had hoped they would. It doesn't matter anyway. The whole thing's sorted."

"You kill him?"

"No, I did not kill him!"

Nick gave him a disbelieving look.

"Alright," Dylan conceded. "I can see how you would get the impression that I would do that, but contrary to recent events, killing people is _not_ the way I solve most problems."

"Uh-huh. And what are you gonna do about Barbara and the other two?"

"Ehm…" Dylan winced.

"Thought so."

"I would like to point out that before you showed up, I hadn't killed anyone – _anyone _– in over eight years. Now the body count's about to jump to five in a month. That's downright respectable." He sighed. "The thing is, I do feel for them. I'm not completely devoid of sympathy. It's just that with Emily in the house, I can't go taking fledges home. They're unpredictable, especially when they didn't see it coming the way these didn't."

"What about the others?"

"I called around. Those that didn't laugh at me said 'no'."

"There's gotta be something else we can do, Dylan. This isn't their fault. They haven't actually done anything wrong yet."

"They'll wake up hungry, Nick. It'll be months before they can get that under control. I can't keep tabs on three people twenty-four hours a day. No one in the Gates would be safe." Dylan shook his head. "It might be time to side with your species again." He shot Nick a sympathetic look. He could not resent him for having such an attitude, considered it, in fact, quite noble. It bespoke a moral solidarity that Dylan did not feel.

Nick looked grim but nodded resignedly and, Dylan thought, with relief. They drove the rest of the way through the outskirts of Franklin to the medical examiner's office in silence. Dylan parked two blocks away on a residential street and popped the trunk. The duffel was still there from the day's earlier escapades and he took two wooden dowels from the bag. Nick emerged more slowly from the car and stretched his right shoulder carefully when he stood.

"How's the arm?" Dylan asked as they walked down the sidewalk.

"Not as bad as it'll be in the morning. I just hope Sarah doesn't notice." He rolled his shoulder and sniffed. "S'fine."

"Good show earlier, by the way."

"Yeah, well, merely mortal I may be, but I've got ten years on the Chicago PD behind me. Hey, before I forget, Sarah's planning a cookout for Saturday." He shrugged and grimaced like he wished he had not. "It's a meet-the-neighborhood thing. She wanted me to invite you. Said you probably wouldn't go if she just went through Claire."

"Yes, well, as much as I would love to go mingle with the neighbors in the sunshine right next to your pool, I'm afraid I'm busy. Hold this." He handed one dowel to Nick and broke the other one in half, careful to crack it along the grain so it would leave a jagged point on the new stake.

"Doing what?"

Dylan smiled serenely. "I'm sure I'll find something."

"Actually, I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to take a look at the neighbors, see what might be there, you know?"

"What, check them for suspicious-looking horns or wings? I see them every month at the Homeowner's Association meetings, and I've noticed nothing other than the fact that people who own animals tend to start smelling like them."

"You said you saw weird things all the time."

"Well, yes. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I'm not sure what I saw most of the time. I think I saw a man's eyes flash yellow at me once, but maybe I'm wrong. I don't even know who he was. That sort of thing. I know the Crezskis own enormous wolfhounds and there's at least one student in the elementary school who does not appear to have a heartbeat, but who am I to complain about that?"

"Wait, what kid?"

"I don't know. He's two grades behind Emily."

"This would be easier if you showed the least bit of curiosity about your neighbors."

"Ah, but then that curiosity might be reciprocated, which would be disastrous." He nodded to Nick. "Case in point."

They arrived at the ME's office and Nick unlocked the door. Something moved in a way that did not match the rest of the night sounds, and Dylan paused at the entrance, listening. He was uncertain which direction it had come from, and as it failed to repeat itself, he let it go and followed Nick into the dark interior of the building.

"But you might see _something_," Nick continued. "And you're more likely to spot that kind of thing than me."

"The best I can give you is a 'maybe'. It's nothing personal. It's just that playing nice isn't as easy as it looks. Maybe something will possess me to go, but I doubt it." Dylan frowned. "Do you hear sirens?"

"No. Here we… shit."

Nick pushed the door to the examination room open, revealing all three bodies laying on their respective gurneys in the middle of the room. Dylan cocked his head.

"Aren't they supposed to be in cold storage?" he asked.

"Yeah. Crap. The window." Nick pointed to a small window high on the wall. The glass was broken out.

Dylan breathed in the musty scent of a strange vampire and rushed to the nearest body, the woman named Ackerman, now more or less straightened out for ease of examination. He sniffed but smelled nothing other than dead human and the rotten-vegetable stink of an old refrigerator. That meant little without knowing when she had died. He would smell nothing if the changes were not advanced enough. He picked up one broken arm and whispered an apology before biting to get a taste of her blood.

"Is this really the time for that?" Nick asked.

"She's dead."

"Yeah, but is she going to get up?"

"No, I mean, she tastes… I think she tastes like a vampire, but she's dead now. For good."

"Did you say something about sirens? We gotta get outta here."

"Hang on." He dodged around the gurneys to Barbara Jansen's body, the Y-incision barely visible where it had been closed up, probably in preparation for a funeral. He smelled and tasted her, and then the third one, the nameless man who had died early that morning.

"Okay, now I hear the sirens," Nick announced. "Shit. I bet this place has a silent alarm."

"Done. They're all dead. Go."

Nick led the way into the hallway but Dylan beat him to the entrance, arriving just in time to see the first squad car pull up in the street. Red and blue light flashed through the windows and Dylan skidded to a halt and turned, pushing Nick back the other way.

"The window!" he hissed at him.

He passed Nick again and ran back to the examination room they had just exited. Threading his way through the three gurneys crowding the floor, he threw the wooden dowels through the window and stood under it as Nick approached. He bent and laced his fingers together, silently offering to boost Nick through the improvised exit. Nick accepted and Dylan hoisted him up so quickly, it was almost a toss. Nick yelped but made it through, and Dylan heard the grassy thump of his landing on the other side and the swearing that came shortly after.

There were voices and flashlight beams in the hallway as Dylan backed up as much as the gurneys allowed to get a running jump and launched through the opening, hands stretched out in front as if diving. He cleared the broken glass and tucked his head and arms. He landed on his shoulder and rolled and stumbled to his feet to run after Nick's retreating back. A quick scan of the grass revealed the police chief had grabbed the dowels before taking off.

From the corner of his eye, Dylan spotted the shine of headlights and the red and blue flash of a squad car turning onto the street that ran parallel to this side of the building. Nick had already crossed the street and was running for the BMW past a string of small office buildings set close together. Though he was tiring, Dylan put on a last burst of speed and caught up to Nick. Hooking an arm around his waist, Dylan used him as a fulcrum and hit the dirt, turning and carrying the police chief with him into the relative safety of the shadowy space between two buildings just as the headlights from the squad car swept over the area.

* * *

"_That_ could have gone better," Nick grumbled as Dylan sped down the road to the Gates. He pulled the last sliver of broken glass from his hand.

"Please refrain from bleeding on the upholstery."

Nick moved his hand away from Dylan. "Don't get any ideas."

"I live with a nine-year-old who thinks she's going to be the next Tony Hawk. If I were going to turn into a ravening beast at the sight of a paper cut, I think I'd have done it by now."

"So, what did your taste test reveal?"

"A vampire was definitely in there, probably minutes ahead of us. Jansen was almost certainly turned. I'm not sure about the other two, they hadn't been dead long enough. I think they tasted a bit like vampire blood, but that might have just been the smell of the one that was there before us. They're all dead now, though. None of them will be getting up again."

"Good to know."

"How did he kill Jansen, though? I didn't see any wounds."

"Here." Nick tapped the top of his shoulder, at the fleshy spot between the clavicle and the shoulder blade.

"What?"

"I saw it before we bailed. Ackerman and the John Doe both had a little, round hole there. Looks like someone had a smaller piece of wood and decided to bypass the breastbone."

"That's hardly any easier. There are muscles and lungs, and a pretty good chance of missing the heart entirely."

"Yeah, well, he pulled it off, whoever he was. And it's a lot less obvious than one of those sticking out of their chests." He jerked a thumb at the back seat where the much larger dowels rattled together every time the car hit a bump in the road.

"They'll find it in the autopsy." Dylan made a _tch_ sound and shook his head. "But not for hours or days, giving him time to be well away when they _do_."

"Don't suppose your 'acquaintance' would know anything about this."

"No, it was a stranger."

"Huh. The same one from the apartment?"

"Justin? Obviously not."

"No, I mean the apartment last night."

"I thought we were assuming that _was _Justin."

"You're the one with the nose. Are we?"

"I don't know. Strangers all smell the same."

"Great. Could it be someone from the Gates?"

"Why would they go to the trouble? I'm volunteering to do it for them."

"Just great. There's another one running around—"

"Cleaning up loose ends. He got us into a spot tonight, but that's not his fault. As annoying as it is to have some unidentified vampire running around assuming that _he_ runs the territory, it's not as urgent a problem as Justin was. Let it be."

"So that's it? We're done with this?"

"Yes." Dylan nodded. "I think we are."

* * *

The women of the pack chatted in Karen Crezski's cheerily untidy kitchen, gossiping and snacking on hors d'oevres.

"So, where's Brett tonight?" Charlotte asked when the conversation about the sorry state of the Singhs' lawn flagged. "It's a school night." She wagged a finger at Karen.

"Football practice. He's not on the team at the moment, but he still likes to go and support his friends."

"Are you sure that's where he is?" Tammy, a tall woman with dark hair and skin, asked, giving Charlotte a nudge under the table. Charlotte tried to hide her giggle.

"Yes," Karen answered confidently with a regal nod at Tammy. "Zachary drove him down there himself."

"Ooh, Zachary…" several women chorused and laughed.

"Oh!" Charlotte exclaimed, tapping the edge of the table excitedly. "I just remembered something. You won't believe who we saw the other day looking just dreadful. Go ahead, guess." Without waiting for anyone to speak, she declared, "Claire Radcliff! She was thin as a rail, wasn't she, Karen. Like death warmed over. And do you know, Sarah Monahan just jumped at the chance to catch a ride home with Dylan at the last committee meeting. I'll just bet he's started sniffing around her and Claire's losing weight to…"

Charlotte prattled on with her wild suppositions about the doings of the _others_, the unfortunates who could not transform and lived without the security of packs. She had an idea, probably gleaned from television, that they were all incurable nymphomaniacs and were forever jumping in and out of each others' beds. Karen let her speculate, waiting for her chance to direct the conversation back to Claire's sickly condition. An idea had been forming quietly in the back of her mind ever since Dylan had appeared in front of Devon's Day Spa acting so strangely.

A motor approached outside, slowing and turning into the driveway. As one, the women perked their heads up and gazed in curiosity at the archway leading to the front door.

"Is that Rose?" Charlotte asked.

"No," answered Margaret, a short blond who rarely spoke up. "That's an American motor and Rose drives a Camry." Seven pairs of eyes focused on her. "Earl's been teaching me about cars," she explained shyly. Charlotte grinned.

"You mean you've been pretending to be interested in cars so you can spend time with Earl," she said. Margaret ducked her head, blushing, as the other women laughed.

They were still laughing when the front door exploded inward with a bang. Margaret shrieked and Karen ran to the archway, Tammy and Charlotte right behind her. The rest of the women followed more slowly, huddling behind the other three. Simon Ford stepped through the doorway, putting a foot out to stop the broken door from swinging in his way. His face was red and the unmistakable scent of alcohol wafted into the house.

"Simon!" Karen said, all shocked outrage, though she had been expecting something like this all day. "What are you doing?"

"I don't believe it," Tammy muttered.

"Simon, have you completely lost it?" Charlotte demanded. "And after this morning, too."

Simon glared at the women behind Karen, his hands tight in fists and his neck strained.

"Fuck. Off. All o' ya." He said and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. It was an order, and it was a sign of the political times that instead of hopping to, the women hesitated. Their eyes focused on Karen and they waited for instruction, which both gratified and terrified the women's alpha. There were so many ways to play this wrong.

"He's drunk," she said softly and unnecessarily, turning her head to speak over her shoulder but never taking her eyes from the man in the foyer. "There will probably be a fight. If you stay, I'll expect your help. Otherwise, you're free to go. Your choice, ladies."

In a fight involving an alpha, no one had the obligation to stay and it was usually good form to leave the alpha in question to his or her own devices. But this pack was an anomaly in more than one way and Karen could not predict what the women would choose. In the end five of them filed out silently, slipping past Simon and racing to their cars. Though her heart was pounding in this test of her power in the pack, Karen nodded calm acknowledgement to Charlotte and Tammy, who stayed to throw their lot in with her, whatever the outcome.

"You heard me, Charlotte. Tammy," Simon called. "Leave now or I'll kick your sorry asses out of this pack along with hers." When they failed to move his face turned a dark, purplish-red and he stepped forward. "Do you HEAR ME? She is OUT!" He shifted his attention to Karen. "You and that kid of yours."

Tammy _humphed_ and Karen could imagine the insolent twist of her lips.

"Go home, Simon," Charlotte said. "If you leave now, you can still blame this whole thing on the booze tomorrow."

"Blow me."

"I don't know why you're so concerned about me," Karen said, scared now and hoping to distract him. "You should be worried about the Radcliffs."

"What?" The non-sequitor broke through the alcohol for a moment and startled, sober confusion showed on his face.

"I've noticed a snakey smell on them more than once."

"Weak, Karen."

"See for yourself. You said that's what vampires smell like, right?"

In response, Simon snarled and took two quick steps forward, getting a short running jump before leaping into the air, his arms forward. He transformed in midair and landed squarely on Karen. They crashed to the floor and his jaws latched onto her unprotected throat before she could move.


	19. Third Verse, Different From the First

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who's reviewed. Feedback = awesome!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Third Verse, Different From the First

Simon moved too fast, and Karen had no time to change. Instead, she threw herself back, taking some of the force out of Simon's lunge and managed to get an arm up between them as they fell. She felt hot breath and the sharp pain of his teeth in her throat. In her wolf form, she had a thick ruff of fur around her neck to protect her from such an attack, but it would be useless now even if she changed. His teeth would be in her neck in either form. At any moment he would clamp down on her neck, cutting into tissue and crushing her trachea. If she did not asphyxiate, she would bleed out soon enough. Simon hesitated.

Fights in the pack were rarely lethal, even in such an unusual pack as the one residing in the Gates. Dominance was worth neither dying nor killing over. Simon hesitated, broadcasting his willingness to let her live if she stopped fighting. Karen hardly noticed.

With the protection of her wolf form rendered moot, offence became the best defense. Shifting the arm that pressed against his neck, she jammed her fist into the soft spot under his jaw as she groped for his eye with the fingers of her free hand and gouged her thumb into it when she found it. Simon made a coughing noise that was part pain, part surprise, but loosened his hold on her throat. Karen changed forms at the same moment that Charlotte leapt and landed on Simon's back.

The sudden added weight of Charlotte's stocky wolf form forced the air from Karen's lungs, but a moment later Simon and Charlotte both toppled to the side and Karen rolled, struggling to get her four feet under her. Her ears rang and she gasped for air. Her throat throbbed where Simon had bitten her and her fur felt sticky and wet.

Simon and Charlotte faced each other in the kitchen entryway. The alpha's ears lay flat against his skull and his lips curled back to show all his teeth. Charlotte crouched in front of him, her ears forward and her teeth hidden. She would not fight him on her own, but neither would she roll over. Tammy, as slim and long-legged as a wolf as she was as a woman, stood tensely by the island, waiting for the alphas to act.

Simon lunged forward, snapping and swiping at Charlotte's face with his front claws as the smaller, pale gray wolf snarled and reared up to defend herself. Ignoring the pain in her throat that was already beginning to itch with healing, Karen dashed forward, aiming for Simon's exposed belly. At the same time, Charlotte let out a sharp _yip _of pain and fell back. Simon surged forward and Karen found her jaws closing on his back leg. Well, needs must. She clamped down and shook her head, tearing skin and tasting warm blood. Her teeth hit the solidity of bone and she jerked his leg out from under him.

Abandoning his attack on Charlotte, Simon twisted and wrenched his leg free of Karen's teeth. They tumbled for a moment, snapping at each others' snouts, legs and throats but unable to land a solid bite. Karen, suddenly underneath Simon, raked her back claws against his belly. The alpha threw his body to the side and rolled away only to come up snarling, red tongue lashing out between white teeth.

Behind him, Tammy trotted forward as Charlotte shook her muzzled, spraying droplets of blood across the kitchen cabinets. For an instant, Karen caught Tammy's eyes and silent communication flowed between them – _Follow my lead_. Tammy braced for action. Karen whirled suddenly and ploughed through the still-open front door and across the front lawn. She heard Simon behind her, his feet thudding on the turf, his breath coming as fast as hers, and behind that, slim, long-legged Tammy, closing the gap.

* * *

Sarah closed the bathroom door behind her and opened the cabinet under the sink. She winced at the twinge of an early cramp and rifled through cakes of soap and extra bottles of shampoo until she found the box of tampons at the back. Damn, only one left. Sarah sighed. She would have to go to the store.

A bass rhythm thumped from behind the closed door of Charlie's room. Sarah knocked, waited for a second or two, and opened the door. Charlie lay on his bed, reading, just as he had since he got home from school. He looked up when she entered, and did not even bother to protest that she opened the door without waiting for permission. Sarah turned the music down so she could be heard.

"I need to go to the store. Will you watch your sister?"

"'Kay."

"That means you'll have to leave your room."

Charlie sighed heavily and rolled off the bed, giving her an are-you-happy-now look.

"Charlie…" Sarah tilted her head, not sure what to say. Dana had told her the news: Andie dumped Charlie. Even Charlie, moody as he was, would get over it eventually but Sarah still remembered those adolescent years and how every little romantic hiccup seemed to matter so much. "She's the one missing out."

"Okay, Mom."

She gave him a sympathetic smile and went to find her keys.

* * *

The streets were empty as Sarah drove home from the convenience store, a plastic bag filled with little pasteboard boxes in the seat next to her. She shuffled through the local radio stations and finding nothing good, reached down to get the CD case from the floor of the passenger seat. She slowed and tried to keep one eye on the road as she groped for the case but still she missed the gray shape of what she took to be a large dog running into the road until it was too late to avoid hitting it. She sat up straight and slammed on the brakes but still the dog hit the SUV's grill and rolled up the hood, smearing blood on the windshield. The vehicle skidded to a halt.

"Oh," Sarah breathed, her hands shaking with adrenaline. _The poor thing_.

She opened the door and stood on the running board, a little wary of the dog. It was enormous, and if it was still alive it might attack her out of fear. The fur rippled as she watched and she thought it was moving for a moment until the whole animal began to shrink. The limbs lengthened and the joints popped as they changed positions. The fur rippled again and disappeared, revealing tanned skin and blond hair.

Sarah stepped onto the pavement and walked around the front of the SUV, her eyes wide and her body cold. It seemed to her that she could feel her bones shaking. A woman now lay naked in the caustic light of a streetlamp and blood oozed from numerous bites and scratches on her body. The wounds on her neck were the worst by far; there was so much blood that Sarah could hardly see where the skin was torn and where it was whole. Between the blood and the strange setting, it took Sarah several seconds to recognize Karen Crezski, and even when she did, she doubted her own eyes.

A canine _yip-yip_ of pain carried across a lawn and Sarah realized she had come to a stop by Karen's house. She squinted into the darkness beyond the harsh orange glare of the streetlamp, frozen in fear for a moment, and saw only the movement of dark on dark before an even bigger dog – no, wolf, some primordial part of her mind screamed, _wolf_! – seemed to fly out of the darkness at her. Time slowed and Sarah dove forward, under the creature's leaping attack, that same primordial brain thinking, _If it only gets my feet I might live._

The weight of the animal landed on her legs, but was only present for a moment before another, smaller, shape leapt out of the gloom from Sarah's left and slammed into the larger wolf, burying its muzzle in the thick ruff of fur at the thing's throat and shoving it hard into the grill of the SUV. The new wolf was coal-black and slender but had enough momentum to pitch its weight at the bigger animal. Sarah scrambled away, trying to stay quiet despite her breath coming in sobbing gulps.

Sarah stopped and cowered by the front tire on the passenger side. From here she could just see Karen's blond hair where it trailed over the hood. The engine was still running. No one could blame her for saving herself when she could not even know for sure that Karen was still alive. She could call 911, animal control, something. Her phone was still in the car. Sarah moved back and reached up for the door handle, touched it. Her hand still on the handle, she looked back at Karen's hair.

"Karen you are such a bitch," she whispered and crawled forward again, toward the fight, cursing herself for a fool. Yips, growls and barks sounded from around the front of the SUV, and Sarah could not judge how much longer the animals – _wolves!_ – would stay occupied with their fight. The whole vehicle rocked as one of the wolves slammed into it. Slowly, Sarah's knees unbent and she braced herself against the side of the SUV, not quite brave enough to fully stand. "IhateyouIhateyouIhateyou," she chanted under her breath, channeling her fear into anger and from there to action.

She hooked her hands under Karen's shoulders and pulled on her arms. The woman groaned and Sarah pulled even harder. She risked a glance at the fight just feet away from her. A third wolf, a stocky, gray animal, had joined the fray. All were bleeding, and the big one was now favoring a back leg and having trouble maneuvering around the two smaller animals.

With one last burst of strength, the larger animal threw the black wolf off its back and lunged at the other one, forcing it back. Now that it was momentarily clear of the other two, the large wolf turned and loped into the night, still favoring its back leg and leaving the two smaller ones behind. The darker animal danced on its paws, as if it would give chase but at a coughing bark from the gray wolf, it turned back. After one last regretful look into the night, it leapt lightly onto the hood of the SUV, where it spotted Sarah for the first time.

Sarah froze and stared up into startled and intelligent brown eyes. Then the fur on the wolf's back rose and it bared its teeth, a low growl issuing from deep in its chest. Slowly and without taking her eyes from the wolf that stood barely a foot and a half away from her, Sarah slid her hands out from under Karen's shoulders.

As soon as her hands were free, Sarah stood up straight and screamed wordlessly into the animal's face. She lunged forward as far as the hood of the car allowed and swung a fist at the wolf's muzzle. The beast stopped snarling and ducked the blow, nearly losing its footing on the slope of the hood. It reared back and stared at Sarah as if it could not understand what had just happened. Sarah screamed and swung again, and again she missed the animal and got only a quizzical cock of the head in response. She began pulling desperately at Karen's inert body, convinced that the wolves were going to kill them both and forgetting in her terror that she had seen Karen herself transform from a wolf to a woman.

"Hey! Will you chill out?"

Sarah and the black wolf both turned to face the new voice. Charlotte stood, hand on hips and naked in the street, and scowled threateningly at both of them. "Tammy, get off the goddamn car." Tammy obeyed and disappeared from Sarah's view for a moment, blocked by the hood. When she reappeared, she was in human form and also stark nude.

Sarah stood panting over Karen, her mind blank and her whole body shaking. She stayed bent over the vehicle for fear that if she moved, she would fall to the ground.

"We should get her to Zach's house," Charlotte said. "He might come back." Tammy nodded and the two women moved forward. Sarah backed away and let them pick Karen up as gently as they could. Charlotte gave her a pitying glance.

"Go home, Sarah," she suggested. "Forget this ever happened. We won't tell if you won't." Tammy stifled a laugh and Charlotte glared at her.

Tammy cleared her throat and said, "He parked us in."

"What? Ugh. I hate him all over again. Fine. So we'll just have to find his damn keys." A wolf howled nearby and all three pairs of frightened eyes turned toward the spot where Simon had disappeared down the street. While still scanning the darkness, Charlotte said, "Sarah? Change of plans."

* * *

"It's not personal," Dylan explained in an infuriatingly reasonable voice as he drove through the winding streets of the Gates toward the Monahans' house. "It's just that _objectively_, when you put on fifteen pounds of protective gear just to play rugby, it's a little… pansy."

"I played football in high school. There's nothing sissy about it."

"Well, sure. From your rather ignorant perspective, I suppose there wouldn't be."

"That's pretty smug coming from the country that brought us cricket."

"Those matches lasted for days. You had to have superhuman stamina just to watch."

"Yeah, well, there's no tea breaks in football."

"There's no need! You take a five minute breather before every play. You even stop the clock. Now, in real football there's none of that standing around to catch your breath business. Those are serious athletes."

"Yeah, right up until they take a fall to get a sympathy call from the ref."

"Touché."

Dylan slowed at a stop sign, ready to roll through it despite Nick's sharp glare, when he jerked the car to a stop as a canine blur streaked through his headlights. He frowned at Nick.

"I think that was a wolf," Dylan announced. "What the hell's it doing in here?"

"You sure? Could just be a big dog."

"I know what a wolf looks like."

"Hell. I'll call animal control, but they won't be here 'til the morning. Hey." Nick bumped his arm. "Follow it."

Dylan nodded and was out the door in a flash, not bothering to take his keys.

"I meant with the car!" Nick shouted as Dylan passed through the headlights to the darkened street beyond.

The wolf ran with a slight limp, but Dylan stayed at a steady distance behind it, enjoying the chase. He darted from shadow to shadow, a blur of shadow himself, emerging from one pool of darkness and disappearing into another. Dash. Rest. Dash. Rest. He hardly cared what would happen if he caught the wolf. Maybe he would play with it and let it go. The point was, the hunt was on and after tonight's near disaster and the frustration of being denied his expected bloodshed, the vampire felt the need to blow off a little steam.

The wolf soon realized it had company and veered right, onto grass and between two houses. Ignoring its injured leg, it leapt one fence and then another. Dylan followed, knowing it was dangerous, that he might be seen. It was late, though, and the chase was too good to give up now.

After cutting through a residential block, they hit the street again. Dylan had fallen behind in the obstacle course of backyards, pools, fences, and swing sets, and was tiring quickly. The wolf loped ahead, easily outpacing the vampire, and Dylan suddenly realized the trap he had fallen into. The thing had been wearing him down. He stopped and gazed after it until it disappeared around the corner of the next house, caught somewhere between frustration and respect for the animal that had so handily outsmarted him.

"Dylan? What are you doing?"

Dylan jumped and whirled around to find Ben McAlister and his… wife? Girlfriend? Dylan had never been quite certain of Ben's relationship with the dark-haired woman he lived with. They stood at Ben's Mercedes, dressed for an evening out and apparently just leaving for the night. The woman stared in open and impolite curiosity at Dylan.

"Nothing," he called, trying to seem as friendly as possible. Ben was a big man on the Council. It would not do to have him think Dylan was up to no good, especially the one time he genuinely had nothing to hide. "A wolf got in from the woods."

"Uh-huh. You want to get off my lawn?"

"Hm? Oh." Dylan stepped back and onto the sidewalk just as Nick pulled up in the BMW. "Sorry. Ehm… Good night, Ben. Lauren."

"Yeah."

Dylan climbed thankfully into the sedan.

* * *

Ben and Lauren watched the car pull away.

"That guy is so weird," Lauren said. "I'll bet the kid was his idea. Poor Claire must be a saint to put up with him."

"Yeah. Wonder what he was doing chasing Simon? It's not like him."

"I think the better question is, why doesn't Simon get chased more often?"

"Hey, you don't think he actually thought it was just a wolf, do you?"

"Of course not," she said. "I can think of a dozen reasons someone might chase Simon down the street. Why would anyone chase a wolf?"


	20. Debriefing

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty: Debriefing

Sarah sat sideways in the passenger seat, trying to keep all three women in view at once. No one had wanted to leave her behind to walk home with Simon still on the streets, least of all Sarah. Tammy drove Sarah's SUV and thumbed a phone number into Sarah's cell with one eye on the road. She spoke in a hurried whisper to someone called Zach. Sarah thought she caught her own name and was proved correct when Tammy glanced apologetically in her direction, as if to acknowledge the rudeness of simultaneously speaking about her and excluding her from a conversation. The look made Sarah feel better – monsters did not, in her admittedly limited experience, care about such social niceties – and she managed to summon a wan smile in return.

The smile faded when she twisted to look in the back seat. Karen lay across the bench seat while Charlotte, in wolf form, licked her wounds. The alpha's eyes fluttered and she stirred and made little noises once or twice, but still had not regained consciousness.

Tammy ended her call and the women drove in silence for several minutes until Sarah spoke.

"Tammy? Stop the car," she said in a thick voice.

"Sarah, we need to—" Tammy took one look at her face and slowed down. In the back, Charlotte left off licking and perked her head up. Sarah opened the door and spilled onto the street. She took two steps and retched. When she returned, she nodded thanks to Tammy.

"I want to know what's going on," Sarah announced, her voice hoarse.

"Well… werewolves." Tammy shrugged and glanced at Charlotte in the rearview mirror as if for approval. Charlotte gave Karen's throat one last lick before straightening and returning to human form. Sarah blinked and missed the change, it happened so quickly. She noted that Karen's wounds were remarkably smaller than they had at first appeared, or perhaps they only seemed smaller because most of the blood had been lapped up by… A wave of nausea cut that thought off and she focused on Charlotte's face.

"Okay, I get that," Sarah said slowly, her eyes wide. Now that the rush of adrenaline and terror had faded, her thoughts were sluggish and she had to think of each word before she said it out loud. "What I mean is, who has a fight to the death in the middle of the street? What is going on?"

Tammy raised her hand as if asking to be called on in class. "I would like to point out here that no one actually died."

"Sarah, listen," Charlotte began. "We're almost there. Once Karen's safe inside, you can just go home and forget all about this. It was an isolated incident." Tammy snorted and Charlotte gave her a sharp look in the mirror. "Okay," she amended. "It was a _Simon_ incident."

"That hunter," Sarah said. "The one they found in Franklin Park. They said it was a wolf attack."

"Actually we heard about that, too," Tammy said. "No one's 'fessed up to it, though."

Sarah gaped at the two women but neither seemed to notice. Nick had said something about Brett being in the woods that night, and as Brett was Karen's son, surely one or both of them had something to do with it.

"Well, it was Simon, obviously." Charlotte sniffed. "He goes running all the time. The guy probably took a potshot at Simon—"

"Never mind shooting wolves is _illegal_," Tammy said and shook her head in disgust.

"—And Simon got pissed and jumped him. Oh, and then he moved the body because he's obviously never seen CSI. Idiot."

The disgust from both women seemed genuine. Either the Crezskis were truly not involved, or Charlotte and Tammy had missed their calling as actors. Either way, Sarah thought it wisest to drop the subject.

"Really, Sarah," Tammy said. "We don't want any trouble. Simon's just an asshole. Karen's got a kid, and my husband's like you, you know." She smiled and nodded.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Granted, Mama didn't approve, but hey, here I am, third among women."

"That would be the women's Gamma, Tammy."

"Tomay-to, tomah-to."

"Canadians." Charlotte rolled her eyes at Sarah. "And slow down. You almost threw us out of the seat going over that speed bump. You want to get pulled over?"

"Any cop pulls me over is getting an eyeful," Tammy muttered but slowed.

"Oh, Sarah, while you're here." Charlotte leaned forward and crossed her arms over her bare breasts. "There's a little rumor going around the pack about you and Dylan Radcliff. So what's the dish? Is there something going on between you?"

"There's a _pack_?" Sarah asked, her eyes wide and with the sudden vision of all her friends and neighbors turning into animals. "It—it's not the whole Gates is it?"

"No, of course not!" Tammy assured her. "Most people are like you and George."

"Who is George?"

"Oh, he's my husband."

"Who cares about George?" Charlotte cried. "What about Dylan?"

"There's another little rumor about Dylan, remember, Charlotte?" Tammy asked.

"Oh, please. Karen was just trying to distract Simon. You know his old pack was wiped out by vampires."

"There are _vampires_?"

"Well, yeah," Charlotte said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "But not in the Gates."

"But Karen said—"

"Tammy, think. If they were vampires could Dylan have picked Sarah up in the middle of the day? No. Now, back to the topic at hand. Sarah. Are you now or have you ever been involved with Dylan Radcliff?"

"For Christ's sake, no! I'm not involved with Dylan. We're just friends."

"Really?" Charlotte seemed disappointed. "Too bad. Why'd you leave so early then?"

"Because you talk like this! 'Oh, what was she doing that day when she was doing something that's none of my business and I don't know anything about it, but I'm going to gossip about it anyway?' Ugh. You should be worried about Karen and getting her to a hospital, not who I may or may not be sleeping with! And since when is there something wrong with catching a ride with a man? I can ride with who I want, thank you. Jesus, this place is like high school."

Tammy stared straight ahead at the road for several seconds before catching Charlotte's eyes in the rearview mirror and saying, "I told you so."

Sarah put her head in her hands and muttered, "Oh, my God." She looked up and spread her hands helplessly. "Can we talk about the vampires some more? Should I invest in garlic?" Under her breath, she muttered, "Or silver?"

"We're here!" Tammy announced.

She took a final turn and pulled into the driveway of a house that to Sarah looked exactly like every other house in the Gates. She wondered if she would be able to find it again later if she had to. Someone must have been watching the street from inside because the garage door roared up as they pulled in and closed behind them when the SUV parked. The door to the house opened and a large man stood silhouetted in the opening, taking up most of it. Tammy and Charlotte maneuvered Karen out of the back seat.

The man, Zach, presumably, stepped into the garage and had a quick, whispered conversation with Charlotte before she and Tammy carried Karen inside. He was large, but not fat, broad shouldered and heavily muscled. If the man was alarmed by two naked women carrying a third into his house, it did not show. Sarah climbed out of the vehicle and stood, shoulders hunched and eyes wide, unsure now what to do. Tammy still had the keys.

The man walked around to the passenger side of the SUV and put his hand out.

"Sarah, right?" he asked in a soft voice at odds with his stature. "I'm Zachary Ross. Why don't you come in?"

"Actually, I'd rather go home."

The man nodded, understanding. "Would you mind holding your hand out for me?"

Sarah frowned but complied. Her hands shook visibly.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in and… catch your breath? I'm sure you've got questions. I'd be happy to answer some of them." He kept his tone level, the way one spoke to frightened animals, when the tone was more important than the words.

"No, my kids – they're home alone. I need to go back…" It was silly, she knew. Nick was probably home by now and Charlie was fifteen years old, after all. Still, she wanted nothing more than to return to home and safety in the face of… well, werewolves.

"Simon wouldn't go after the chief of police and his family," he assured her. "And the truth is, I'd rather have a rational conversation with you before I send you back. This involves the whole pack, and as I'm the closest thing to an alpha available…" He shrugged.

"Alright." She did have questions. He was right about that.

Zachary led her through a sparsely decorated kitchen and dining room into a comfortable den with a large, overstuffed sectional arranged around a coffee table still laden with pizza boxes and soda cans. Zachary apologized for the mess and cleared it quickly, stowing the boxes and cans out of sight behind the sectional. This room seemed more lived in, with sports memorabilia on the walls and a trophy case containing no shortage of awards on display. Sarah sat on the couch and inched forward to the edge. She cleared her throat.

"So," she began meekly, "A Georgia fan?" She pointed to the red and black framed jersey above the trophy case. Zachary smiled warmly.

"Actually, that was mine," he said, a charmingly unconscious smile spreading across his face, and settled himself comfortably in a corner of the sectional. "I played offensive tackle for two years." He sobered and met her eyes. "I'd like to apologize for Simon's behavior tonight. He and Karen have been at odds for a while now. He has bouts of bad judgment, but it doesn't make him a bad person."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Bad judgment? He could have killed her."

"Pack life can be a little rougher than what you're used to. I think he was trying to scare her, that's all."

"Shouldn't you take her to a hospital?"

"If Charlotte and Tammy can't wake her up, that's what we'll do. We heal very quickly and the hospital staff would have a lot of questions about it, so we like to consider hospitals a worst case scenario."

"Yeah, I thought it might be something like that."

"Would you like something to drink? Tea? Soda? Bourbon?"

"No, thanks. I won't be here that long. You know, if Karen does need help, you could go to Devon. I know she seems like another one of those new agey crazies, but she's actually really… knowledgeable." Sarah frowned. Something in Zachary's manner changed at the mention of Devon's name, and his lips tightened over his teeth.

"We try to stay away from Devon," he said.

Before Sarah could ask why, Charlotte appeared at the archway that led to the kitchen, clothed now in a T-shirt that hung on her like a dress. She tossed car keys at Sarah, who fumbled them and had to dig them out of the couch cushions.

"She's awake and knows who's president," Charlotte announced, and winked at Sarah. "Not that she's any happier about it than she was two years ago. Tammy's still laying with her."

"How's she doing?" Zachary asked, real concern in his voice.

"Well enough to talk politics with Tammy. I got out while I could. Did I hear someone say something about bourbon?"

Zachary's smile was relieved. "It's on the floor in the pantry."

"Thank God." Charlotte disappeared into the kitchen again.

Zachary turned back to Sarah and caught her eye. "Sarah, listen. I don't want you to think that what happened tonight is commonplace. Fights like that are actually very rare."

Charlotte returned with a tray of drinks, bourbon on ice, and handed them out. Sarah sipped hers, grateful to have it now that it was there.

"We're actually a fairly peaceful people," he continued. "We go hunting in the woods sometimes, but we hunt deer and rabbits, that sort of thing. We have day jobs. You know Charlotte's an accountant, Tammy's a nurse, and I coach high school football. We're not that different from you and Nick, really."

"Why are you here?" Sarah asked. The bourbon burned pleasantly on the way down, and loosened the tension in her shoulders quickly since she had emptied her stomach. "Why the Gates?"

"Well, there's the woods," Charlotte said. "And then there's Frank. He's great. And the pack here is…" she tipped her head back and forth, as if thinking of the right words. "More welcoming to strangers than most."

"Our pack is actually made up of a few different packs from around the country that fell apart for one reason or another."

"You know about Simon's. His old pack got into with vampires." Charlotte shuddered. "The way he tells it, I'd rather deal with Simon than a vampire any day."

"And yours?" Sarah asked Zachary, trying now to make polite conversation.

"Charlotte and I come from the same pack. It was small to begin with and got smaller when two of us went to Iraq and didn't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Zachary nodded and Charlotte gave her a sad smile. Sarah held her hand up and watched it. It no longer shook, and she felt ready to drive home without running off the road.

"Sarah," Zachary said, catching her eyes again. "We would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell anyone about this."

"Who would believe me?"

"You'd be surprised," Charlotte sang out.

"There are people who would not only believe you, but might actually come after us because of it," he explained.

Sarah nodded, understanding. The thought had crossed her mind that she was much more vulnerable in a world of werewolves than in a world without them. She supposed there might be some people who might take a more proactive approach to the problem.

"Well," she said, "I don't think Nick or I are one of those, so your secret is safe with me."

"Great," Charlotte said, her cheeks flushed. "Are you going to be at the next committee meeting? I just had this great idea for a fundraiser. Halloween costume party! There could be a costume contest and a raffle. Oh! And a bake sale. We could get Peg Mueller involved. Have you _had_ her pumpkin pie? I can't get enough of it. I'm not sure what we would raffle off, but we'll think of something…"

Charlotte chattered on for several minutes before Sarah politely excused herself. Zachary insisted on exchanging phone numbers before she left, "Just in case."

The two betas saw Sarah off at the door. Charlotte waved cheerily. When the SUV disappeared around a corner, Zachary turned to the plump woman.

"You really think you can trust her?" he asked.

"Well, it's not like we don't know where she lives. And what are our options, anyway? She's the police chief's wife."

Zachary nodded and trudged upstairs. He met Tammy, also dressed in one of his T-shirts, as she exited his bedroom.

"How's she doing?" he asked.

"Still staunchly libertarian but that was always the case, so I don't think we can blame it on a blow to the head. She took the brunt of it, and I don't think getting nailed by a car did her any favors, but she'll live."

Zachary thanked her and entered the room. Karen lay on the bed amid rumpled sheets, propped up on a pile of pillows. Blue and purple bruises covered the left side of her face, but most of the open wounds had closed or shrunk, and none were bleeding. She greeted him with a lopsided smile.

"He went after me," she whispered.

"Yes, he did." Zachary sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to move the mattress too much and cause her any pain. Tammy sat on the floor and, when he failed to protest, leaned against his leg. Charlotte, sans giant T-shirt, trotted in on four legs and leapt onto the bed, ruffling the covers as she turned around and around before curling up next to her alpha. Zach stared at Karen, his teeth on edge. "I'm done with this cloak and dagger business, Karen. Next time I see him, I'm challenging."

"You don't have to. He came after _me_. He's afraid of you, and now he's disgraced himself. The whole pack will know it by tomorrow. Congratulations, alpha."

"No. I'll challenge him. We'll fight it out fairly. This is… I expected him to come after me, not you. This is so underhanded, I feel dirty just being involved."

"I did it for the pack. Simon needs to go."

"Yes. But not like this. I'll challenge at the next pack meeting."

Karen did not respond and Zach started to strip to join Charlotte and Karen in a dog pile on the bed.

Tammy tipped her head thoughtfully where she still sat on the floor.

"Karen?" she said, hoping her alpha was still alert enough to respond. A muffled grunt indicated she was. "Were you just trying to fake Simon out or do you really think Dylan's a vampire?"

"Vampire?" Zach stopped in the middle of undoing his pants. "Who's a vampire?"

Karen sighed. "Dylan Radcliff," she said. "Claire's husband. I keep smelling something around him. It's like the reptile house at the zoo. Brett and I also saw him near where that woman was killed in her apartment, looking… wild. You've seen the papers. The vampire murders? And then Claire was looking just terrible the other day, like she was just wasting away. It made me think…"

"He can't be a vampire, Karen," Zach said, kicking his slacks into a corner. "We see him every week at the Homeowners' Association meetings. In daylight."

"But that smell…"

"I've never smelled anything on him."

"I don't know how you can smell anything over that sunscreen they wear all the time," Tammy declared.

Silence fell on the room as all four pairs of eyes widened in sudden, terrible, realization.


	21. Leave of Absence

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: Leave of Absence

Claire's evening was a flurry of cooking. Pastas and casseroles, meat dishes and vegetable sides. Emily watched with inscrutable eyes from her seat at the island, only occasionally participating by retrieving an ingredient her mother had forgotten to pull out ahead of time. Claire tried to remember if she had ever watched her mother in such a way. As the digital timer ticked down on the oven, Claire gazed, unseeing, at her darkened reflection in the oven's glass door and sifted through equally dim memories of her childhood. No, she concluded. They had had a cook, though perhaps she had occasionally watched Mrs.… oh, what was her name? The timer dinged and Claire pulled the roast out and set it on the counter to cool. It would go in the refrigerator with the rest.

She put Emily to bed, whispering comforting words to her before she returned downstairs to wait for Dylan and rehearse what she would say.

She sat curled in one of the too-stiff chairs in the living room, too lost in thought to register how it made her back ache, when he arrived. He glanced once at her, icily, and turned toward the stairs.

_So he knows,_ she thought, unsure if it made this harder or easier.

"Dylan," she called. "I need to talk to you." She peered around the chair's wing and saw that he had stopped, one foot on the lowest step and a hand on the balustrade. His eyes seemed to be focused on the toe of his shoe. When he neither spoke nor moved, she stood, wincing as her back muscles protested after so long curled up, and slid her feet into her shoes. She approached cautiously, unable to read his expression. She took a deep lavender-and-sage scented breath, which seemed to help renew her determination. "I met Christian the other night…" His face darkened and she took a step back, thinking he might start a boxing match. If he did, she would want some space to maneuver. She schooled her features into a contrite expression.

"I know perfectly well you met Christian, you—" he stopped, inhaled, scenting the herbs, and Claire saw the anger drain away.

"We hunted three times," she said softly. "He caught one the first time, the other two…" She shrugged and her husband nodded, understanding. Most hunts were unsuccessful. She thought Dylan would interrupt, but when he only stepped onto the tile of the foyer and watched her face, she crossed her arms and continued. "The last time, I stopped him. It was Barbara Jansen, and I…" She shook her head and made a huff of frustration at herself. "Well, I knew her, and – I knew her, that's all."

Dylan chuckled. She gaped up at him, ready to be angry, to start the fight again. He leaned back against the balustrade and looked at the ceiling, still laughing softly, and she realized he was laughing at himself as much as he was at her. He smiled and reached out to push a few errant strands of hair behind her ears, a friendly gesture.

"We're going crazy. That must be it."

Claire gaped at her husband and thought he might be right until she remembered Nick and smiled herself, having got the joke.

"You're not angry, then?" she asked.

He sobered and considered her question. Finally, he said, "We're secretive, lying, murdering bastards, Claire. I've never met a vampire who wasn't. But I've always tried to do right by you, and I still _hoped_ you'd do the same for me."

Some people, some vampires included, thought vampires were incapable of guilt. This was not true. Vampires could and did feel guilt, but lived so in the moment that they rarely lingered on the emotion or reflected on its cause. Right now, under the pressure of Dylan's eyes and the hurt lurking behind them, Claire felt the emotion more keenly than she could remember having felt it in her life or death. She felt the false contrition melt from her face and looked away until she could gain some control over her expression. Dylan could always read her so well. She nodded.

"That's what I'm doing right now," she said, and with the scent of sage seeming to clear her mind the way the lilies had muddled it, she made a snap decision. "So here's a little more. Peg said something today that made me think."

"Peg!" Dylan winced and stood up straight. He would have paced if he had the room, but trapped as he was between Claire and the banister, he only rolled his eyes.

"She said we're playing by different rules now. We're actually living like them, not just pretending for the hunt."

Dylan shifted and Claire read annoyed disbelief in the set of his hips and shoulders.

"Dylan, I killed that man and Devon got into our lives. There is a connection there. Peg just pointed it out."

"Bad luck?"

"And why not?"

"Because you've been hunting and killing for more than fifty years and while I will grant you we've been run out of more than one town because of you, I would call that cause and effect, not luck."

"Peg's a witch. She knows things. And before you get on your high horse about my indiscretions, I've got two words for you. London, Ontario. It's a good thing Christian is such a frontiersman or we'd be three little piles of ash in the middle of the Canadian countryside."

"My point still stands. And how was I supposed to know she was the mayor's niece? They should wear nametags."

"Anyway," she held up a hand to forestall more argument. "She said something else about sitting on the fence, and I've been thinking. You think I can't control myself, but you're wrong. The trouble is that I'm not sure I want to control myself."

"We've talked about this. We agreed…"

"You talked. I agreed. And I've tried. I really have. But I don't seem to have the stamina for it that you do. Karen snipes, and I _hate_ not being able to just snatch that stupid little smile off her face. You don't have to play nice, Dylan. You're an utter bastard to your subordinates at work, don't think I don't know it. But I've got to go to these… _meetings_." She imbued the word with all the loathing she felt for suburban life and paced away while she talked, feeling the pressure of those gatherings, suffocating and scrutinizing. "They're nasty to each other, they gossip and talk, and I don't understand it. I try to join in, but then _I'm_ the nasty one, and they all turn on me. They have no idea how nasty I can be, but of course, I can't do anything about it, can I? You get to come home and hide from them all in here, and I don't blame you. So, yes. A perfect target presents itself, and I don't _want_ to turn down a hunt."

"What about Vanessa?" he asked weakly.

"Vanessa?" Claire scoffed. "She's not family, Dylan. And moreover, she's… Well, I don't think she really understands the difficulty."

Dylan nodded and looked past her, his expression thoughtful. Of all the vampires living in the Gates, Vanessa was the most skilled at appearing human. She often took the game too far in the opinions of the others, marrying a human and seeming to _enjoy_ being in the sun. Any difficulty Claire had keeping the mask in place would be lost on Vanessa. Dylan blinked when he realized what he had been staring so absently at. A small gray suitcase and a Styrofoam cooler sat waiting by the front door. He gave his wife a questioning look and noticed for the first time that she was not dressed for bed, but groomed for going out.

"Where are you going? Are you—You're going to _him_?" he choked out. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward.

"I'm not going to him. I've reserved a hotel in Franklin where I will be spending a few days away from—" she waved a hand around, taking in the house and the entirety of suburbia in the gesture, "—this. It's got nothing to do with Christian. How _did_ you live with him for so long?"

"The sex was great," he deadpanned.

Claire twisted her lips, trying not to smile. It could be hard to tell sometimes when Dylan was joking, and she decided that it mattered very little if he was or not. She knew the answer to her own question, anyway. The bond between Dylan and Christian was the same as the one between husband and wife. It kept them together and made them family. She stepped forward again and schooled her features back to a more appropriate expression.

"Actually, Dylan, I won't have anything more to do with Christian. I know you and he share a bond, but he's… He said something today that worried me."

"Today? I thought you said you broke it off."

"I did, but he won't leave me alone. Now he says he's house hunting here, and he made vague threats about entering the house any time he likes. I don't want him anywhere near Emily. You know he never approved."

"Yes, well, if you hadn't been cozening up to him for the past weeks, he wouldn't have reason to take notice of her again."

"And who gave him our address and an open invitation? No." She held a hand out and lifted her chin, breathing in the soft scent of lavender and sage. "I will not fight with you tonight. The fact is, it wasn't even a choice between the two of you, so there's no need for jealousy on that count. I'd change my phone number if I thought he was worth the effort. I only mentioned it because I thought you should know. Because I didn't tell you before." She moved close, a hairsbreadth of space between them, and gripped his left arm just above the elbow. She ran her thumb over the place he had cut and had her drink from fifty years ago. His face softened at the touch.

"No need to worry about him," he assured her.

The corner of Claire's mouth tugged up. "What did you do?"

"I slit his throat. He'll not be bothering us for a while."

She laughed and went up on her toes to kiss him, effervescent with victory, however second-hand. Like subtle music played in the background, the tiny voice in her heart whispering that Dylan would never forgive her, would leave her for Christian, a much older friend than she, had gone almost unnoticed until it was silenced.

"You don't need to go," he said when they broke apart, minutes later.

"No. I do. I need time to myself."

"Then go in the morning."

"No. This is hard enough to do." She pulled away from him reluctantly and reached for the bag and the cooler. "If I stay 'til morning, I may never go." She paused, her hand on the suitcase's handle and gave him a pleading look. "I was running away from this when you met me. I've tried to be the perfect wife and the perfect mother, but lately I've been remembering _my_ mother. Do you remember yours?"

"No. She died when I was young." He frowned, thinking back. "I think she died in childbirth. Or was it pneumonia?" He shook his head. "I don't remember."

"Well, I remember never wanting to be her. She gave up so much of herself to her husband and her children that by the time I finally left home, there was very little of her left. I think she thought that if she only sacrificed enough, was _good_ enough, that it would all come back to her with interest, that she would be happy, but she never was." Claire ducked her head and caught Dylan's eyes. "I won't be my mother, Dylan. I am willing to sacrifice for us and for Emily, but there is a limit and I need to determine what that limit is. I know I hurt you, and I know I put us in danger, and I'm sorry for it. I hope that this will put an end to all that. I'll only be gone a few days." The bag's handle telescoped out and she tucked the cooler under her arm.

"Claire, this isn't easy for either of us, there's no need… We don't need to have the fight tonight. We can talk." He stepped forward, reaching one hand out to hover uncertainly in the air.

Over the last six years, he had threatened to throw her out of the house on several occasions. Each time they went through the same dance, how reckless she was, how he was to blame as much as she. Each time he allowed himself to be persuaded to give her One More Chance. Their marriage had become a carefully crafted truce punctuated with skirmishes, major or minor, each threatening to boil over into open war. By removing herself from the battlefield, Claire was breaking all the rules, and Dylan was at a loss.

Claire ignored his entreaty and said, "There are several meals in the refrigerator and Peg said Mia would walk Emily home from school and watch her 'til you get home. I'll call in the morning to wish Emily a good day at school."

Dylan looked at the cooler, guessing what was in it. "Will you be hunting?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"I know."

"What am I supposed to do if Emily won't do as I say?"

"What everyone else does. Threaten her with the other parent's vengeance. We both know I'm the mean one." She smiled up at him, and for a moment her resolve wavered. He still looked grim, his face tight, wincing pain lurking in his eyes. She had hurt him, and her leaving like this was salt in the wound. Suddenly she dropped the bag and the cooler and wrapped her arms around him once more, breathing in his scent and holding the breath so she could remember it all the better during her short absence from him. "A few days," she repeated, as much to herself as to her husband, as she gathered her things together again. "Just a few days." She turned away, hiding the tears that sprang into her eyes and opened the door. Dylan stood on the stoop and watched her go.

"We're going to have that fight," he called after her.

"I know," she said. "When I get back. We'll ship Emily off to Peg's and make a night of it."

The corner of his mouth ticked and he let out one soft breath of laughter as he nodded agreement and she climbed into her car.


	22. A Hard Day's Night

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Quick question. Has The Gates started airing in Australia recently? I've noticed an unusual number of hits from there... Well, the more the merrier :) (I'm a little fascinated by the international hits. They come from places that seem very far away from me. Wie geht's, Deutschland? What's up, Ireland?)

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: A Hard Day's Night

Peg knelt on one of the couch cushions relocated to the floor of a third bedroom that served as a storage room in lieu of the attic. She had drawn a circle around herself on the carpet in chalk dust among boxes of holiday decorations and winter clothes and hoped to hell it would come out later. In front of her a lit candle sat on a plate, its wax slowly dripping down to pile up around the base. An old corncob pipe containing a carefully prepared selection of dried herbs, and a glass of milk sat on either side of the cushion.

Her eyes were half-open and glazed as she stared out beyond the room, not into another world, but into _her_ world rendered at the same time metaphorical and literal. She saw this world as a complex web of dendritic connections between nodes that represented individuals in her scope of knowledge. Thick, ropy lines tied her to friends and family, whereas more fragile strings represented mere acquaintances and occasional patients.

The line between Peg and Devon had once been strong but had long ago begun to rot. Left alone, the tether would eventually snap but it had been so thick to begin with that it could take some time for the rot eat it all the way through. Peg had been watching this connection all night, waiting for the surge of energy that would indicate her former friend was casting a spell.

The hours wore on, and Peg occasionally re-lit the pipe and puffed to maintain her grip on the world of connections. She caught herself dozing more than once, and wondered if she had guessed wrong, if Devon perhaps would not try to raise this Arlen Davidson person tonight. Maybe she would do so tomorrow. Peg doubted she could do this two nights in a row when she had work in the morning.

Peg's head dipped forward, and she very nearly lay down to sleep on the cushion when a flare of light behind her eyelids startled her fully awake. Energy thrummed down the connection from Devon, and Peg's tired brain scrambled to put in order what she knew she had to do.

In the world of connections and power, Peg reached out one hand and grasped the line between she and Devon. Her fingers sank into the rotted chord and she wondered when things had become so bad between them. They had been friends once.

In her storage room, inside the chalk circle, Peg reached out two hands. One groped for the glass of milk, found it, and held it on the rim, her fingers dipped into the liquid. The other hand found the candle and twisted it to snap it off where dripping wax had glued it to the plate. With her concentration carefully split between the two kinds of vision, Peg lifted the candle slowly and held it in the air while she gathered power. Energy crested like a wave and she turned the candle swiftly upside down and slammed it down on the plate, smothering the flame. With her second vision, she saw Devon's light flash almost blindingly bright and then dim down to a normal level, her spell interrupted and her power shattered, for a little while, at least.

The stench of rotten milk permeated the storage room and Peg grimaced as she withdrew her hand from the glass of now-curdled dairy and wiped her fingers on the rim of the glass. She shook herself and lurched to her feet, her knees complaining and one foot almost numb from having fallen asleep. Both worlds were still visible to her and she tried not to stumble into anything on her way to her bedroom. She remembered to wash the rotten milk off of her hands before falling into bed, exhausted.

* * *

When Nick finally returned home, tired and aching, the kids were already asleep and Sarah was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. He froze guiltily when he spotted her, but managed a sufficiently nonchalant greeting. Poker, he reminded himself. He had been out playing poker with Dylan.

To his surprise, instead of demanding to know just where he had been all night, Sarah surged off the couch, flitted around an obstacle course of furniture and architecture to envelope him in a bear hug.

"Thank God you're home," she said.

"Woah. Sarah, love, what's wrong?" Out of all the chaos of the day, a horrible thought struck him. "Are the kids alright?" He made a move toward the stairs, but a hand on his arm stopped him short.

"No, no!" She laughed a little giddily, kicking the cop side of his brain into gear. Something was not right here. "They're fine. I just—I went to the store and I—I almost got into an accident. It scared me." She put a hand on her forehead, pushing her bangs until they stuck straight up, and gave him an embarrassed smile. "How needy am I, huh? Sorry to tackle you." When she looked up at him, her eyes were still a little wider than usual and her voice sounded strange, loud and staccato, as if she cut herself off after every sentence before she could say what she really wanted to.

"Hey, tackle away." He tried to sound casual as he silently guessed at what she was hiding from him. "Sounds like a harrowing evening."

"No kidding." She took a deep, fortifying breath and calmed visibly. Her fingers twined among his. "It's over now anyway. Let's go to bed." She gave him a slow, playful smile and tugged on his hand. "I have the sudden urge to seize the day."

In the face of that coy, sexy smile, he told his cop brain to shut the hell up because he had had a shitty day himself and anything that smacked of more weirdness in the Gates could damn well wait until morning.

"Oh yeah?" He goosed her and she let out a startled _yip!_ She slapped him on the arm in fake outrage, and he groped her shamelessly, which if nothing else, chased the last vestiges of fright from her eyes and made her laugh. They giggled like kids and shushed each other all the way to the bedroom where their giddy laughter made way for softer sounds until they finally fell asleep in each others' arms.


	23. The Morning After

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Morning After

Nick's cop brain had been putting in extra hours overnight. He woke with a fully-formed thought, both heartening and frightening, and went through his usual morning rituals in a dazed autopilot as he tried to determine what to _do_ about it. He had a theory to test and he did not want to come off like a complete loon when he did it.

Charlie and Dana bickered over use of the bathroom, although this morning it did not devolve into an actual shoving match. Small favors. Nick played referee on his way downstairs, then left the kids to their own devices. He had grown up in a large Catholic household himself and was convinced that sibling squabbles built character.

Coffee was ready and he poured himself a cup and blinked drowsily down into its depths.

"So, solved any mysteries of the universe?" Sarah asked.

"Huh?"

"You've been staring at your coffee for, like, three minutes. Figured it must be important." She pulled the stopper out of the kettle and began filling it at the sink.

"Oh. Yeah. Sleepy." He shook the cobwebs out of his head and reached for the half and half. "Hey, love? Last night – ugh! Hell."

"What?"

"Cream's off." He sniffed the lumpy mass and flinch away from it.

"That's weird. I had to throw the milk out, too."

Nick made a face and set the carton aside to pour himself a fresh cup. "I'll drink it black. Um, Sarah? About last night. Did anything else happen? Other than what you told me?"

Sarah's face tightened and she turned the tap off. "Like what?"

"I don't know. You just seemed… off."

"No. Nothing happened. A—a dog ran into the road. I swerved and almost hit a tree. That's all." Sarah hunched in on herself, the arm not holding the kettle wrapped protectively around her midsection.

"Okay," he said, having decided his dignity was less important than that his wife was afraid to talk about whatever had really happened last night. He grew more and more convinced with every rabbity gesture she made that the idea he had woken up with was right: Sarah had _seen_ something, and did not think he would believe her. "How's this. I'm going to say a word, and you say the first thing that comes to mind."

She frowned at him, confusion chasing lingering fear away for now.

"Vampire," he said. Her eyes widened and the kettle banged to the floor and rolled a few feet away.

"Werewolves," she whispered.

"Holy shit. Who?"

As they spoke in low voices, Dana and Charlie stood on the bottom stair, just around the corner from their parents. Dana's hand was raised to cut off whatever her brother had been about to say, and hung forgotten in the air as they listened avidly to the conversation in the kitchen.

* * *

Dylan sifted through the closet for a shirt. It must be one, he decided, that proclaimed to the world that his wife had absolutely _not_ taken a hotel room in Franklin for an indeterminate amount of time for very vague reasons. The violet one? He had hated it the moment it crossed his doorstep, but Claire insisted it brought the blue out in his eyes. No. Wearing a shirt she liked but he did not would be the same as begging her to come back… right? Besides, he had no ties to match. Blue. Definitely.

"We're gonna be late," Emily called. When Dylan emerged, both potential shirts in hand, she sat impatiently on the edge of the bed. Her feet could not reach the floor, and she kicked them against the metal of the bed frame, making a dull metallic _clunk_ each time.

"You mean we're _going to_ be late. Don't slur your words together like that. And we're not. We've got…" he checked the clock radio by the bed. "Alright, I'll tell your teacher it's my fault if you're late. Which one?" He held up the two shirts.

"I like the purple one," she answered promptly. Emily hopped off the bed and stood behind him as he faced the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

"It's violet, not purple."

"What's the difference?" She raised an eyebrow skeptically, just like her mother, and plucked at the vest that still hung on its hanger from the doorknob.

"Um… to tell the truth, I'm not sure." He held first one shirt then the other in front of him. On the off chance that he saw Claire today (not so outlandish a supposition, really. Franklin was a small city), she might appreciate the effort if he wore the violet one. "But I have it on good authority that it is, without a doubt, violet."

Emily slipped into the vest and turned in the mirror, modeling it for herself. "It's a good thing you can see your reflection," she commented.

"Oh?" The blue, on the other hand, was a much less remarkable color for him to wear. It was a perfectly normal color, and not at all the sort of thing one wore when eager to patch it up with overly-bloodthirsty significant others, the fact that said bloodlust was one of her chief charms notwithstanding.

"Yeah. How would you shave?"

"Good point." The fact that _he_ had absolutely nothing to apologize for was just another tick on the 'pro' side of the blue shirt as far as Dylan was concerned.

"You should wear the purple one."

"Violet. And I'm beginning to think I shouldn't ask nine-year-olds for fashion advice. I'm not one of those men who can't function without a woman in the house, you know."

"Well, the milk _was_ bad this morning."

"I can hardly be blamed for that, now can I?"

A surreal feeling came over him as he looked at the two of them in the mirror, he, the vampire with the sartorial crisis and she, silly in the oversized vest. It was like being caught in a Norman Rockwell painting. He found himself trying to commit the scene to memory, and marveled at the strangeness of the instinct.

For decades he had spent most of his time by himself, moving in on prey, or with other vampires, none of which situations called forth the sudden realization, _this may never happen again_. He always did the same things by himself. Prey came and went, and as exciting as the hunt was, there would always be another. Since vampires changed little over the decades, there was never any reason to memorize a particular event; it could be counted upon to happen again. With Emily and her quick changes over so few years, from first words to walking to being able to really _read_ the story book along with him, the moments he wanted to preserve in amber to revisit in their perfection later were many.

In opposition to his own dreamy grin, Emily's face turned serious and she said, "Mom likes the purple one. Are you guy's gonna get divorced?"

"What? No. Of course not. What gave you that idea? I didn't even know what 'divorce' meant at your age."

Emily shrugged. "Riley? She's a girl in my class, and her parents are divorced. She only sees her dad every other weekend." Her eyes became moist and her lower lip trembled. "I don't want to see Mum every other weekend. I want her to come home."

Dylan dropped the shirts and swept the girl up in his arms. She held him tight and sniffled as he tried to comfort her. The blue one, he decided in the wake of fresh ire at Claire.

"We're not getting divorced, Em. Your mum just wants some time alone. It's a – a vampire thing." He winced, guilt pricking at his conscience for lying to the girl even as he realized it might not, strictly speaking, be a lie.

"Really?" she asked in a watery voice.

"Yes." He sat down on the bed and she curled in his lap. "We like to be alone sometimes, away from people. Not that your mum doesn't want to be around you, that's not it," he hastened to add, terribly afraid that if he said the wrong thing now, it might mean untold years of psychological scarring. "Family is different. It's just that… I think she wanted to get away from the other people in the Gates."

"But they're not in _the house_. Why'd she have to leave?"

"It's… um… well… We're different from the other people here. You know that. And so we have to pretend to be same even though we're not." He was losing her, he could tell. Perhaps the concept of alienation was beyond the ken of nine-year-olds. "Anyway, it's stressful. Your mum just needs some time to relax. That's all. She called you this morning. Didn't she say she loved you?" Emily nodded. "You see? We both love you. It's like when I go out of town. I always come back, and so will your mum. I'll watch Dracula with you tonight. Would you like that?"

Emily nodded, mollified but not quite satisfied. He supposed it would have to do for now. She needed to get to school and he was suddenly struck with the determination to get her there on time, more because of than despite Claire's absence. He shrugged into the violet shirt for reasons he did not care to examine too closely lest they interfere with his sense of having the moral high ground vis-à-vis his wife, took the vest back from his daughter, and hustled her down to the car.

When they arrived at the school and Dylan asked her to lead him to her classroom, she beamed and pulled him by the hand through the hallways to the correct door. He wondered how long it would be until she would rather die than be seen walking through the halls with him. Everything he had ever read or heard said it would be so, but he did not see how.

"Mrs. Gutierrez," he said to the plump young woman at the head of the class as Emily reluctantly left his side to tuck her backpack into a cubbyhole by the door. He put his hand out. "I'm Dylan, Emily's father. We met at the beginning of the year. I don't know if you…"

"Oh, yes. I remember. You're wife's name is Claire, right? I always remember a face."

And an accent, he was sure. It was one of the unfortunate things about living in a foreign country. "Yes, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Another parent came in, a slender black woman, a rather reluctant boy trailing in her wake. Mrs. Gutierrez smiled at her as the parent tried to get her attention.

"Tammy! Hi! I'll be right there." She turned back to Dylan. "Is anything the matter? Emily's been doing great."

"No. Um. You see, her mother's gone to… visit family, and she needs to go home with her babysitter, one of the highschoolers, Mia Mueller." Mrs. Gutierrez smiled and nodded, which annoyed Dylan. One would think she could treat the situation with the correct gravity at least. "She already knows she's going home with Mia, but she may forget. Could you remind her before she goes to the car pick-up?"

"Oh, sure." Her smile brightened. "You'd be surprised how often that happens. I'll keep an eye out for her. You don't need to worry." She moved subtly toward the door and Dylan got the impression that he was being ejected from the classroom. He said a quick goodbye to Emily and reminded her one last time to go home with Mia. As he passed the slender woman, still standing in the doorway, he thought he heard her move toward him and a deep intake of breath, as if scenting the air near him.

Dylan turned and shot her a narrow-eyed look, letting his features harden into what he knew to be a startlingly cold glare, the one that proclaimed he would gleefully rip her head off and drink from her neck like a kid at a water fountain given half a chance. The woman blinked, surprised, and stepped back, but never took her eyes from his. When he passed out of sight into the hallway, the woman moved to keep him in view. Dylan tamped down the impulse to return and pull Emily out of class for the day. It was just another of those _what-just-happened_ events that he had tried unsuccessfully to explain to Nick.

He thought about bringing it up to the chief of police, but not only did that smack of tattling, he was not sure how to describe his sense of unease to someone steeped in civilization. To the civilized observer, of course, he and the woman had both simply been rude. That was all well and good in the mundane world of humanity. Ironically, the long-term success of civilization depended on each individual waving away such incidents as _impolite_ not _potentially deadly_. If everyone expected everyone else to try to kill them without warning or reason, civilization itself would fall apart. They would be like vampires, wary of strangers and always ready to attack first, just in case the stranger in question was thinking the same thing. No, Nick would not understand, and it was probably for the best that he did not.

Dylan's phone rang on the way to work. He answered it without looking at the caller ID, hoping it would be Claire (he would most certainly _not_ be the first one to call unexpectedly). Nick's voice came over the line, staticky as Dylan drove through open farm country.

"Dylan? We need to talk. You're not gonna believe this."


	24. See Me

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: Okay, two things.

One, my beta, Moonflower333, had to go on hiatus for a few months, so this chapter is rampantly unbeta'd, as the next several chapters will be as well. I did what I could on my own, but I apologize ahead of time for any reduction in quality. I'm going to try to find another beta in the interim, but please bear with me.

Two, the last couple of weeks have been extremely busy. I haven't had much time to write or edit lately, and I've caught up on my back log of ready-to-post chapters. Since I don't want the quality of the next chapter to suffer (especially since I'm temporarily beta-less) , I'm going to give myself some time to catch up, so I won't be posting next Friday (April 1st). Regular postings will resume the following week (April 8th), same fanfic place, same fanfic time.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: See Me

Tires squealed as Devon's SUV swung into a parking space by her building so early on Friday morning that it may still have technically been Thursday. She hustled out of the vehicle, hardly bothering to push the door closed behind her, her purse striking her back as she spun and marched toward her apartment. With the raising the previous night unexpectedly ruined, the witch decided that despite the dangers of entering the Gates again, she needed to consult her spell book and have a strongly-worded discussion with her familiar about what could possibly have gone wrong and just where she was supposed to find another of Dylan's victims.

Glancing over her shoulder for signs of the Radcliffs even though she knew she would probably never see the vampires if they chose to attack her, the witch fumbled her keys out of her purse and almost failed to see the shoe string trailing out from under her door. Frowning, she grabbed the doorknob and made a small sound of dismay when it rattled loosely in its mooring and nearly came out altogether from where it had been precariously balanced. Devon pushed the door open, feeling some resistance, and found a running shoe flush against the other side of the door, the source of the shoestring and only thing keeping the door shut.

* * *

"Who can tell me what Dickens _intended _us to think about Miss Havisham? Is she a villain? Do you think she's even a little sympathetic? Tom?"

Sun slanted in through the window of Andie's afternoon English class and fell across the girl sitting in front of her. It glinted in the girl's hair when she moved and Andie stared, hypnotized, hardly listening to the conversation around her, waiting for the bell to ring so she would be that much closer to going home and falling asleep as she had done for the past several days.

"I don't think she's sympathetic at all. Her whole house is gross; she's on this weird vengeance kick for no reason…" Tom shrugged.

"She has a reason," Charlie said, and the sound of his voice made Andie tune into the discussion for a few seconds before drifting off again in the kaleidoscope of sun in front of her. "Her fiancé ditched her. Besides the emotional trauma, it was just a bigger deal back then than it is now."

The talk flowed around Andie like air currents in the fog that had been settling ever thicker around her in the days since she had thrown her pills away. More and more she felt disconnected from the people and things around her, and she wondered dreamily if she put her hand out to touch the girl's hair, would it pass right through like a ghost's? She blinked. Someone was saying her name.

"Andie? Sweetie, can you hear me?

Andie gazed up into the worried face of her teacher. The other students were staring at her with mixed expressions of worry and curiosity, but she hardly noticed.

"Hm?" she managed.

"Andie do you feel okay? You look kind of pale."

"She always looks pale," someone muttered, but Andie lacked the energy to feel embarrassed at the attention.

"Um… Just kind of tired."

"I think maybe you should see the nurse, Andie. That swine flu's still out there. She'll call your parents if you've got a temperature."

"Okay." Andie stood, almost excited at the prospect of going home early.

"Bring your backpack, too," the teacher reminded her.

In the hallway, Andie paced slowly toward the nurse's office. Her initial anticipation of going home had drained away and she now worried that her father would find out about the pills. Her feet slowed even more and the backpack seemed to grow heavier with each step. Were those her only choices? Tweaked out on meds or walking around in an ever-denser fog, with sleep her only relief? What was the point?

Of its own volition, her head snapped up at the sound of approaching footsteps from around a corner ahead of her. The sound seemed to blow the fog away and for the first time in days the world became as crisp and bright as a sunny winter day. She knew without understanding how she knew that the steps belonged to a male. She looked up and down the hallway, but saw no one. Good. Lukas stepped out from the corner, a folder under his arm, probably on some errand for the football coach. Andie acted without thinking.

_See me_.

He glanced at her, ready to blow past without a word in continued solidarity with Brett, but she caught his eye and his steps slowed.

"Hey, Lukas," she said, smiling. "Where're you off to?" The boy stopped in front of her and seemed unable to think of an answer to her question. "You want company?" Wordlessly, he took her hand and let her lead him back the way he had come, to the empty gym and the relatively private space beneath the bleachers.

Mia dodged and shoved her way through the crowd of highschoolers, most of which were considerably taller than she, a mere freshman. Finally she darted through an opening between two seniors and found herself in the subdued atmosphere of the clinic. Composed of two small rooms, the front for administration and storage and the back for care and more storage. Only the nurse sat in the front room, and as Mia saw by craning her neck, the second room was empty. No Andie.

The nurse turned her attention reluctantly from her computer to the student, moving first her head and then her eyes.

"Can I help you?"

"Um… yeah. I was looking for my friend? Andie Bates? She was supposed to come in here last period."

"Oh, well, no one's here now. She must have gone back to class."

As the evidence pointed to just such a conclusion, Mia thanked the nurse, who went back to her computer. When she turned to leave, Mia spotted a sign-in sheet on a clipboard hanging by the door. On a hunch, she scanned it for Andie's name, and was surprised to find that Andie had not come in the nurse's station at all.

Mia frowned. Andie would never just skip out on school, so maybe she had just loitered in a hallway until the next class. Of course, that did not sound like Andie, either. Mia shook her head. She had probably forgotten to sign in. _That_ sounded like Andie. She waded back into the hallway, less crowded now that class was about to begin, expecting to find Andie in Chemistry.

For ten minutes after the bell rang, Mia chewed her pencil and shot curious glances at her friend's empty desk. Finally, she raised her hand and asked to be excused to go to the restroom. Once there, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and thumbed up Andie's number.

"Mia?" Andie answered after two rings, her voice quiet and shaky, and sniffed wetly.

Less than a minute later, Mia snapped her phone closed and slammed out of the bathroom to run toward the other side of the school.

Mia's shoes squeaked on the gym floor as she crossed to the bleachers, heavy wooden things that could be folded back against the wall, but had been left telescoped out for a game that night. She peeked into the shadowed space underneath and could just make out Andie's crown of curls in the gloom. Mia gestured for Andie to come out, but her friend shook her head and stayed sitting against the wall, her knees tucked up under her chin.

Mia rolled her eyes and ducked under the bleachers. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out a large lump on the floor with blond hair at one end.

"Is that him?" she asked.

"I think I killed him," Andie whispered. "Oh, my God, I'm going to go to prison."

Mia frowned and approached the lump. Lukas did, indeed, look dead. His skin seemed grayer than it should have been, thought that could be a product of the poor lighting. At least his skin was warm when she touched his neck and his heartbeat was steady.

"He's not dead," Mia declared. "What happened?"

"I… he's not dead? Are you sure?"

"His heart's beating. Survey says: not dead. Of course, that doesn't negate the possibility of jail time. Kinda depends on what happened. So…" Mia waved her hand in a circle, encouraging Andie to speak.

"Nothing! I… I kissed him." Andie ducked her head and would not meet Mia's eyes.

"Kissed him? That's it?" Mia frowned, remembering a similar incident involving Andie. "Like you kissed Charlie?"

"But Charlie got better! He's been like this for, like, fifteen minutes. What am I supposed to do?"

"Not to go all after school special on you, but it might be time to tell an adult."

"No! My dad will find out. He'll know—" Andie caught herself and swallowed, then continued in a reasoning tone, "We can't tell anyone."

"Tell them what, Andie? That you kissed someone and they fell down? Again? That's not exactly a hanging offense. Hey." She touched her friend's shoulder and softened her voice. "I think Lukas might need help here. Even if your dad grounds you for making out with him under the bleachers—"

"That's not it. I haven't been taking my medication."

Mia frowned. "Hello, non sequitur. You want to run that by me again?"

"No. Mia. It's complicated."

"You know, I'm getting tired of this 'leave me alone', 'you wouldn't understand' bullshit. This isn't really the time for it. You don't want to tell me what crawled up your ass? Fine. Whatever. I'm getting the nurse." Mia, still hunched over, turned to go back out into the gym, but Andie grabbed her jacket sleeve, stopping her.

"No! Okay, Mia. Look, if my dad finds out about this, he'll know I haven't been taking my meds. I'll have to start taking them again." Andie released Mia's sleeve and hugged her knees again. "I can't do that. I just… can't."

Mia sank onto her heels and, with a sudden feeling of ice in her stomach, studied her friend. She thought about vampires and witches. With effort, she tried to think of Andie not as her friend, but as a possibly dangerous unknown, and chose her words carefully.

"Andie? What is the medication for?"

Andie licked her lips and stared at Mia with wide, tearful eyes, but remained silent.

"Did you hurt Lukas?"

"I didn't mean to," Andie whispered. Reluctantly, she met Mia's eyes, silently pleading with her to drop it, but Mia stared back and gave a minute shake of her head. Andie swallowed heavily and looked at Lukas. "It's called succubus paramour. I got it from my mom…"

* * *

Zachary Ross double-checked and signed the last requisition request sheet and set it aside. The Gates Academy powers that be cared far more about the academics of the school than the athletics programs, which was all right as far as it went. What annoyed Zach were all the hoops he had to jump through to get proper funding, especially when he considered how much money the athletics programs brought to the school. Well, there were just a few more forms to fill out and then he and Brett could start setting up the practice field.

Zach reached for another form, but found only an empty spot on his desk. Oh, right. Lukas was off getting copies. Zach checked his watch and sighed. These days he worried over any little hiccup in his dealings with Simon's son. Any day now the kid would start challenging his authority, and it would get ugly because Zach would have to put him in his place twice: once for the non-wer kids to prove Coach was in command, and once for the wolves to prove that not even the alpha's son could take on an adult beta with impunity.

He pushed his chair back and squeezed out of the tiny office to find Brett already pulling training equipment out of the storage locker. He had to hand it to the kid. Though he was off the team, he obviously did not think it beneath him to continue to help out.

"Lukas back yet?" Zach failed to keep the growl out of his voice.

Brett shrugged and shook his head. "You want me to find him?"

"No, I'll go myself."

Brett raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Lukas was in for it.

Zach followed Lukas' scent trail on a direct route to the front office. When he spotted the boy unexpectedly lying in the middle of the gym floor, he dashed over to him. The kid was pale but breathing, and the folder of forms to be copied was tucked under his arm. No blood scent was in evidence, so Zach shook Lukas' shoulder and called his name. The boy's eyes fluttered but he did not wake fully.

Wishing he could transform here without risk of exposure, Zach relied on his human nose and sniffed around the boy, finding the scents of at least one female and another scent he did not recognize, though it made him think of a she-wolf in heat. There was another scent, faint, and possibly incidental, but indisputably present: the snakey smell of a vampire. His own investigation complete, he called the front office and was patched through to the clinic's phone.


	25. Always Say 'Thank You'

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

* * *

Chapter 25: Always Say 'Thank You'

The bartender, a butchy woman with short, spiky hair, handed Claire her drink with a smile. The vampire returned the gesture and swiveled on her seat to face the crowd. The bar was dim and smoky, not as up-scale as the Red Door, but neither was it one where Claire, with her nice clothes and obvious breeding, would be too memorable. She swirled her cognac-on-ice around in its glass and scanned the room for any obvious prospects, the easier the better. A nicely drunk and good-looking young man, too confident of his own power to think he could ever be anyone's victim, let alone a woman's, would be perfect, but it was rather early for that. Better to wait a little longer, until her as-yet-unidentified target had had enough to drink.

The last two nights had been a bust. Pickings were always slim on weeknights, more so in a small Midwestern city like Franklin, and the recent murders had not enticed more people onto the streets. Even the bums huddled together to sleep around the same park benches. She had returned to her hotel room hungry two nights in a row, and had eaten through some of the bagged stuff she had brought with her from the house. Well, she would be damned if that would happen for a third night.

As she waited for a target to present itself, Claire tuned in to a few of the conversations around her. Most of it was flirtatious or gossipy, neither of which was of any interest to the vampire.

"Hey, Josh? Can I ask you for a favor?"

Claire turned her head to better hear the bartenders behind her over the music and murmur of the crowd. The butchy woman was cutting lemons into wedges and had moved her task nearer her coworker to ask her question. The coworker, Josh presumably, nodded as he mixed a complicated drink.

"Do you think I could crash on your couch tonight? And maybe tomorrow? I just found a place, but I can't move in 'til the weekend. It's just I haven't met a lot of people in town yet, so…" She shrugged.

Claire's ears perked at that. A working-class type, new to town, with obviously few acquaintances was an even better target. No one would report her missing for days, if ever. How fortuitous.

For the next hour or so, Claire bided her time, had another drink, and chatted with a few of the people around her who quickly left her alone when she made it apparent she was uninterested in being picked up or hit on. She kept a close eye on the bartender and spotted her chance when she announced to Josh that she would take a smoke break. As soon as the woman disappeared into a back room, Claire collected her purse and slid off her stool. She headed for the front doors, planning to circle the building to find her meal around the back.

As she rounded the first corner, the distinct odor of a strange vampire filled the air and Claire sped around the last corner. She halted for a fraction of a second to take in the scene. A short, balding vampire held the bartender tight against him, one arm around her midsection, pinning her arms to her side, the other hand bending the woman's head back and exposing her throat.

Claire dashed forward, leaving her heels and purse behind on the pavement and running barefoot, to ram herself bodily into the vampire. He released the woman as he fell. The bartender rolled a short distance, into a corner formed by a dumpster and the brick wall of the bar.

The strange vampire twisted onto his back and kicked at Claire, but she saw that coming and rolled to the side and onto her feet in one graceful move, dodging the kick completely. The other vampire tried to do the same, but before he could get his feet completely under him, Claire moved in. With one hand on his shoulder and the other under his midsection, she heaved and tossed him a dozen feet into the air. He yelled wordlessly and came crashing down onto the pavement. She smirked in satisfaction when his head bounced on the concrete. Claire approached again, taking her time, as the vampire clambered onto his feet. With hardly a look back, he ran unsteadily away into the night, favoring one leg and holding his bleeding head with one hand. She watched him go, in case there might be more hiding around a corner, ready to steal the kill back, but none appeared, and she turned to her meal with great anticipation.

"Oof!" Claire stumbled back and suddenly found herself enveloped in a bear hug. She frowned down at a head of spiky hair. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" the woman gasped. "Oh, my God, he was going to kill me! You saved my life. Thank you!"

Claire wriggled her arms free of the bartender to grip the woman's shoulders and push her back a few inches. She was shorter than her supposed rescuer, so she had to tilt her head up to meet Claire's eyes, exposing her throat.

Claire blinked, distracted. "What?"

"Thank you. Holy shit, that was insane. Are you okay?" The woman stepped back and stood on her toes, scanning the alley beyond Claire. She failed to notice the vampire's eyes or teeth and Claire supposed the alley might be too dim for the woman to see much. "We should go inside. He might come back. Let me buy you a drink or something."

"Uh…"

"Hell, all your drinks are on me from now on."

Claire sputtered. "No, actually, I think I should… um…" _Hunt somewhere else_, she thought. Yes. That was it. Find somebody suitably obnoxious to tear into. Properly grateful and likable young women were perhaps not the thing tonight. She backed away from the woman.

"What, are you going after him?"

"What? No, of course not."

The woman tipped her head. "There's all that stuff in the papers about the vampire killer, you know." She tipped her head the other way. "You threw that guy."

"Oh, now, don't be silly."

"No, I saw it."

"No!"

"You _threw_ him. I mean, hey, no big deal. You're obviously a good guy, right?" The woman smiled, nervously at first, then it broadened in something joyful and tinged with wonder, as at discovering something thought lost in an unexpected place. "You're a fuckin' superhero."

Claire silently cursed herself for her sentimentality, and determined to kill the woman anyway. She had seen too much. But before the vampire could act, the back entrance to the bar banged open, making both women jump. A middle-aged man leaned out and bawled, "Hey, Jen, quit flirting and get back to the bar. They're getting mobbed in there."

Claire took a step back and turned her head, concentrating on making her fangs retract. Jen breathed out a laugh and shook her head as she turned toward the building.

"Thanks again and, hey, I'm serious about that drink," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bar.

Claire stood in the empty ally for nearly a minute before retrieving her shoes and bag and trudging across the street to her car.

The restaurant on the ground floor of Claire's hotel was small but busy, and the buzz of conversation and clink of flatware provided a comfortable background of white noise. When the quiet of her hotel room had become too stark to bear, Claire came down and sat at a table at the back, hunched over a glass of bad wine – the restaurant had no cognac – feeling sorry for herself.

What was it about that woman that had made the vampire hesitate? She had killed hundreds, even thousands of people over the last fifty-odd years, and never felt an ounce of regret about it. In fact, the regret she felt at the moment had more to do with her missed meal than any sins she had committed in the past. The woman had not reminded her of anyone in particular, nor had she been someone especially deserving of a stay of execution. What then? Was it because she said 'thank you'?

She resolved never to tell anyone about the event, especially Dylan. It would only prove him right, and even if he _was_ right in this particular case, she did not need to spell it out for him. He would assume it, anyway.

Claire scowled down at drink. It really was terrible wine. Just as she twisted in her seat to catch the waitress's attention, she caught the eye of a young man at the bar who looked back unabashedly and smiled what he probably thought was his most charming smile. Claire did not bother to respond. Apparently willing to take anything but an outright death threat as an invitation, the young man stood and sauntered over to her table. He pointed at the chair opposite.

"This seat taken?"

Claire swirled the wine around its glass and purred, "If you don't leave me alone this instant, I will pop your eyes out of their sockets and wear them as earrings." She tilted her head just enough to see if he moved away without looking directly at him.

He made a disgusted noise. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he said and walked away, muttering unkind things about her as he went.

Claire steeled herself and moved to take a sip of the alleged wine, inhaling as she always did, and froze with the glass almost touching her lip. She put it down and sniffed again. Vampire. Turning in her seat, she glanced at the young man. Him? No, too easily turned back. Movement toward the front of the restaurant caught her attention and she stiffened. An unfamiliar blond woman, her hands in her jacket pockets, threaded her way through the busy restaurant floor, her eyes on Claire.

"This is my restaurant," Claire snarled when the newcomer came within earshot. "Get out."

Without breaking the rhythm of her pace, the stranger swept the chair across from Claire out from under the table, sat, leaned back, and crossed her legs and arms.

"You're not hunting it," the blonde observed.

"As it so happens, I am," she returned, frightened now.

What did this woman want? A fight? Claire would not give her one, not without calling on reinforcements. There was no telling how many family members the blonde had waiting for a chance to rip Claire to pieces for no better reason than that they were bored. She slid her hands off the table and into her lap. The blonde noted the move but only nodded toward the bar.

"That kid was practically begging for it, but you let him go," she said. "Makes me think you're not interested."

"What I am or am not interested in is no concern of yours, whoever you are."

"Name's Russo."

"What a coincidence. I'm Descartes."

"The spelling's different."

"I don't care."

"You let that other woman go, too. The one at Rue Bar."

"I don't like poachers."

Russo frowned and tapped her foot against the table leg. "This isn't your territory."

"Who says it's not?"

"A vamp named Dorothy for one."

"This territory belongs to my family and has for years. Would you like to meet them?" She said the last with false sweetness as both vampires knew any such meeting would result in Russo's summary execution.

"Oh, I get it." Russo nodded slowly. "You're with those two guys."

Claire gave her a bland stare.

"One's a tall white guy, English accent. The other's shorter, maybe Italian, sounds like he's from Chicago."

Claire shrugged and sipped her wine, recognizing the description of Dylan and Nick. "And they're not the only ones," she said.

"Well, better late than never. You _do _know about Dorothy, right?"

"No, but I think I might have a line on the Wicked Witch."

Russo snorted and shook her head. "Dorothy says this is her territory. I wouldn't care, except she's turning people as fast as she can. One of them got loose, or she let him out, I don't know, and he started the same project, except not as neatly. Your family took care of him _after_ he made headlines," Russo finished, acerbically. "Look, I've got better things to do with my time than police a territory I don't actually want so it doesn't explode all over the Midwest. I saw you behind the bar and I –"

"You weren't tracking me. I would have known."

"No, I was after the other one, Baldy. I lost him for a few blocks, but caught up in time to see the heroics."

"Heroics?"

"You saved the girl." Russo beamed.

"I told you. I don't like poachers."

"Sure. As I was saying, I saw you _not_ kill the damsel, and I thought you might be different from the others. At least I thought you weren't with Dorothy's crowd."

Claire frowned. "How did you find me here?"

"I searched your purse when you weren't looking, found the key card to this hotel." Russo pointed at her. "Bang."

Claire gaped.

"I also found out you're from the Gates. No wonder you had no idea what was going on here. Suburbanites always have their heads in the sand." She shrugged. "This is actually really good news… Descartes." Russo rolled her eyes as she said the name. "You say this is your territory? Wonderful. Dorothy is the one you want. She's usually based downtown, but she keeps moving. She picks off the homeless, mostly, turns them. I figure about thirty to forty percent make it, but that's based on some fairly sketchy observations, so grain of salt. I think she's got six or seven now, minus Baldy."

"Minus?"

"Minus. So, this is your territory? Great. I hereby bestow upon you the honor of cleaning up this mess. Have fun." Russo stood abruptly. "Sorry to interrupt your… sublimation." She glanced at the glass of wine. "One more thing." Russo gave Claire a knowing smile. "It feels good when they say 'thanks', doesn't it?"


	26. Block Party

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.  
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: Block Party

The Saturday afternoon sun shone brightly on a sparkling flotilla of cars, trucks and SUVs parked around the Monahan house. Distant voices mingled with music as Dylan found an empty spot across the street and parked. He glowered up the slight rise at the house as if _it_ was to blame for the fact that the sun was angled to hit the back yard with full force.

"You could just drop me off," Emily said. He glanced over at her, in her cute little bathing suit and shorts and had to smile.

"No, I've got to talk to Mr. Nick so I might as well come in." With one last fortifying deep breath, Dylan climbed out of the car. "Now, you know the rules. You are not to go in the deep end of the pool. No jumping, no diving." He pulled a case of beer and a brightly colored bag of summer bric-a-brac, out of the car.

"Dad!" she whined. "I never get to do anything. All the other kids'll be in the deep end.'

"Consider yourself lucky I'm letting you go in the pool at all."

Emily pouted but Dylan stood firm. With his limitations in daylight, there were too many things that could go wrong in a pool. By the time they hiked up the steep driveway and reached the Monahans' front door, Emily seemed to have more or less resigned herself to three-feet-deep doom, and chattered about how wicked sweet it would be to drain the thing instead and use it as a half pipe. Sarah answered the door and gave a start when she saw Dylan. He held up the case of beer tucked in one arm.

"Hello, Sarah. I wasn't sure what to bring, but I thought I would spare everyone and not cook anything myself. So…" He stopped, noting her large, frightened-rabbit eyes and the way she hugged herself. "He told you." Hell.

He should have expected that. They could not keep secrets the way vampires could. It was only a matter of time before Nick gave in to his instinct to _tell someone_, and Sarah, being the closest adult, was the obvious choice. Still, when Nick had called the day before yesterday with a second-hand story about werewolves fighting in suburban streets, he might have given Dylan a heads-up. _By the way, you should think of something to say to Sarah…_

Sarah nodded once and stood back.

"Come in," she breathed, then frowned. "Do you need to be invited in every time? I don't…"

"The once is fine. Em? Go out back and play."

Emily went reluctantly, knowing she was being sent away so the adults could talk, and resenting it. The slap-slap of her sandaled feet faded as she left the two of them alone in the foyer with only the muffled sounds of music and voices to cover the awkward silence. His first instinct was to frighten her off – _I'm dangerous, leave me and mine well alone_. The way she stood hunched in on herself and staring at him with the wide eyes of cornered prey told him it would be easy. Then again, he had tried that with Nick, and look how far it got him. A niggling little discomfort at the prospect of sweet, harmless Sarah, who needed rescuing from gossipy bleach-blonds, being frightened of him tipped the balance and he gave her a reassuring smile. See? No fangs. Just the friendly neighborhood vampire here for the pool party.

She returned the smile briefly before covering her face with both hands and laughing self-deprecatingly.

"Oh, my God. I told myself I wouldn't be all weird, and here I am, making it weird." Her hands slid down to press palm to palm under her chin. "It's just a little—Thank you."

Dylan frowned and glanced down at the beer.

"No," she laughed again, more freely this time. "I mean, you saved Nick's life and probably mine and the kids', too, so… thank you."

"Well, it was…" He shrugged.

"But Dylan," she continued, her voice firmer. "Don't ever take him on another… whatever you two were doing Wednesday. That might not be any big deal to you, but his shoulder is still hurting him and the last thing we need right now is a medical bill or for Nick to get arrested or, God forbid, killed. His job is already dangerous, he doesn't need you making it more so."

"Of course. You're quite right. The whole thing's over now, anyway," he said, trying to be as vague as possible without knowing exactly what Nick had told her about the escapade. He cleared his throat. "Ehm, Sarah… You know, Claire and I aren't the only ones here. There are a few others who would not be pleased that I've exposed us all. Your family and mine will be safer if no one else hears about all this."

"Right. Yeah, Nick said something about that..." Sarah coughed once and Dylan wondered what Nick had said about vampires to make her so nervous. Probably nothing but the truth. She straightened her back, gathering the ragged edges of her composure together. "Anyway, I understand the need for confidentiality. Nick's outside. I think he wanted to talk to you, come up with a game plan or something." She led Dylan toward the back of the house. She seemed eager to end the conversation and he was unsure how to feel about that.

"Are any of the…" He waved a hand. "_Werewolves_ here yet?"

Sarah nodded. "Outside."

"How many?"

"Two that I know of, Zach and Charlotte. Karen couldn't make it, obviously."

A dozen people at least had already arrived and arranged themselves around the patio. He spotted Vanessa Buckley lounging by the pool in a tiny bikini, and he had to stop and stare. She looked for all the world as if she were sunning. Unbelievable.

The adults had control of the pool and sat and floated sedately while Emily and the other children played tag on the lawn. Most of the women seemed reluctant to get their bathing suits wet and, like Vanessa, lazed about in the sun, chatting and drinking blended drinks.

Peg stood on the grass and talked with neighborhood acquaintances while throwing breadcrumbs to two dozen or so black birds that swooped down from their perches on the roof and fence to gobble down her offerings. She and Dylan nodded at each other across the patio.

Nick stood in front of a smoking grill and waved a pair of tongs in greeting. Dylan joined him and plunked his belongings down nearby. He stood in the shade of the roof overhang and watched Charlotte, since he was unsure who "Zach" was, where she sat with her legs dangling in the water and a drink in her hand.

He had an idea the mystery wolf might be the rather large black man who sat in a deck chair behind her and half-listened while she, with failed subtlety, pointed to various partygoers and told him and everyone nearby their life's story. The large man watched the rest of the party with a focus Dylan recognized. It was the same way the vampire had once scanned a crowd of humans to pick out the most likely meal. More than once the man's eyes focused on Dylan, but flitted past quickly enough that the vampire thought it might be only coincidence.

"I want your thoughts on something," Nick said. "I'm thinking I should take the direct route with these guys. What do you think?"

"What, just call them up and tell them you know their secret identity?" Dylan shook his head. "That's a terrible idea."

"Why?"

"Because there are few things more frightening than policemen implying they know more than they should." He gave Nick a pointed look, thinking of Markus's visit to his home not to long ago. "They might panic."

"They might panic any second now anyway. You got a better idea?"

"Unfortunately, no. Not at the moment. Give me a little while, maybe I'll think of something." He turned his attention to the grill. "Explain this to me. What's the purpose of cooking outdoors on this thing?"

Nick shrugged and began assembling bits of chopped up meat and vegetables on skewers. "It's a long standing tradition, my friend. Every American male must know how to cook meat over an open fire or he can't hold his head up in public."

"Ah. Just in case you happen to get lost in the woods or something?"

"Exactly."

"Hm. One might wonder, then, why the actual hunting of the meat isn't a prerequisite."

"One might, but one doesn't," Nick observed. "Now what do you want on yours?"

Dylan opened his mouth to refuse – the vegetables did not appeal and none of the meat in evidence was fresh enough for his taste – when Nick opened a cooler and the scent of relatively fresh blood wafted out.

"What is that?" Dylan asked.

"Venison. The uh… first basemen brought it."

"I'll have that, if you don't mind." He tipped his head. "First basemen? I think team mascot might be more appropriate, don't you?"

"Nah. Not weird enough for this league. I'm saving that for the flying purple people eater when it shows up." He held up a skewer full of venison. "Rare?"

"Rare implies dangerously over cooked, but I suppose I'd attract more than a few stares if I tucked in as is." The vampire shrugged. "As you please."

"Living dangerously, huh?" Said a voice behind Dylan. He turned to face the speaker. Probably-Zach stood, beer in hand, not three feet behind the vampire. He moved quietly for someone so big. He tipped his longneck at the grill. "Brought that down myself. It's wild. Most people would cook it all the way through." He shrugged massive shoulders. "You never know. I'm Zach Ross by the way. Don't think we've met."

Dylan introduced himself and tried to catch the man's scent over the charcoal smoke while Nick greeted him. Yes, there was an unmistakable canine odor about him. The police chief and the werewolf chatted over the grill and Dylan tuned back into the conversation when he heard his name.

"…not as action-packed as you might think, but it's a real back-to-nature adventure you can't get anywhere else, 'cept maybe camping. What about you, Dylan? You ever hunt?"

"Hm? Oh, not recently."

"But you have?"

"Years ago. Before Emily." At the thought of his daughter, Dylan scanned the yard for her. Apparently she was 'it'.

"That reminds me, Charlotte was hoping to see Claire today. Is she going to come by later?"

Dylan gritted his teeth. Damned nosy bitch. Claire could no more stand Charlotte's company than she could Karen's, and everyone knew it.

"No," he managed, and turned his warning show of teeth into a smile. "She's out of town. Visiting family. An Aunt Edna something or other."

"Oh." The werewolf sipped his beer. "She's been kind of under the weather lately, hasn't she?"

"A little."

"When will she be back?"

"I'm not sure. Within the week, I think."

"Yeah? She go all the way to England?"

"Cincinnati."

Zach looked unnecessarily pleased with himself and Dylan supposed his irritation was showing. He forced a bland smile onto his face, which froze into a grimace at the sight of Devon Buckley emerging from the house and onto the patio. Noticing his stricken expression, Nick and Zach turned to find its cause.

The witch stepped out through the glass doors in something gauzy and green, heels clacking. Enough heads swiveled in her direction that conversation stilled in a ripple across the patio. Even the children paused in their game to peer curiously at the adults and the apparent object of their attention.

Devon smiled and preened, making a production of greeting Sarah warmly, ignoring the hostess' obvious discomfort at her as yet not fully understood faux pas. While Devon helped Sarah make room for her punch bowl and made small talk in a too-loud voice, Peg caught Dylan's attention and hiked her eyebrows significantly at him – _watch_ _out_. He sent her a predatory grin in return.

Devon turned a smug smile on the partygoers, and everyone dropped their eyes and resumed their former conversations in a more subdued tone.

Nick shook his head. "That woman can make an entrance," he observed.

"Hmm," Zach said, and it sounded almost like a growl. He looked out across the pool and exchanged a look with Charlotte that Dylan could not interpret.

Devon scanned the patio and, seeing the three men standing in a knot, smiled like a snake and slinked over to them, somehow making the green gauzy thing she wore blow open and closed around its waste tie, giving teasing little glimpses of how very little she wore under it. She toyed with the cap of a Dasani bottle on the way.

"For what we are about to receive," Dylan muttered blasphemously, "May we be truly grateful."

"Dylan!" the witch exclaimed as she approached. "I didn't expect to see you here. Where's Claire? Not still sick." She untwisted the cap of the bottle and swirled the liquid inside.

"No, she's quite got her strength back. It's very kind of you to think of her. I'll let her know to keep you in her thoughts as well."

"You do that. Can you believe how hot it is today? And here it is, nearly October." Devon spilled some of the water from the bottle onto her fingers and flicked droplets toward Dylan's face. "I'll bet the water's cool, though."

The vampire threw up his arm and ducked the water, backing away and snarling a little as he did. The witch turned her attention to Zach, who stood, kabob in hand, frowning down at her. She glanced at his meal.

"Venison?" she asked. "Isn't that a little _obvious_?" She lifted an eyebrow on the last word and glanced at Nick, inviting him to share in a joke the cop suspected he was not supposed to understand. Zach grumbled something about Charlotte and backed away, not quite showing his teeth. "Anyway, Nick, I wanted to ask you about reporting a break in."

"Well," Nick said, turning back to the grill, "You can call the station and talk to Markus. I'm sure he'd be happy to help you. Did something happen at the spa?"

" No, my home. The door handle was broken almost completely off, and a few things are missing. Nothing very valuable, thankfully, just some items of personal significance. As a police officer, if someone broke into an apartment and left the television and computer alone, would you say it was someone the victim knew, who perhaps had some kind of personal vendetta against the victim?"

"Yeah, could be. Go ahead and call the station," Nick advised. "Markus'll file a report for you and we'll look into it."

Having apparently concluded her business with Nick, the witch drifted away to a group of friends where she expounded on the wonders of online dating and at one point recommended it loudly to Peg, to the great amusement of her audience. Cruel observations on Charlotte's rather plump figure provided more hilarity for the group. Sarah cringed and valiantly continued to play the good hostess despite her guest while her husband watched from a safe distance.

"For someone who experienced a break-in, she doesn't seem to upset," Nick observed as he arranged hot dogs and hamburger patties on the grill.

"Mm," Dylan agreed, still fuming from the water incident, but glad that at least it had not caused any real harm. Only a few drops had hit his arm, but he rolled his sleeves down to cover the damage.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about what happened to her stuff, would you?"

"As much as I would love to wreak a little havoc on Devon, I couldn't possibly have done it. I am very much _not_ invited into her home. Neither is Claire, if that's what you're thinking."

"Right. She's got a point, though. If it's the way she describes, it sounds like she's got enemies, and not just you two."

"Zach the first baseman didn't seem too—"

An outraged screech followed by a splash cut Dylan off mid-sentence. Devon, eyeliner running and glaring hatefully up at Charlotte stood hip-deep in the pool, her stylishly quaffed hair now plastered to her head and neck and dripping in her eyes. Charlotte smirked victoriously down at the witch as she continued on her path to the house, having hardly missed a step hip-checking Devon into the pool.


	27. Civilized Human Beings

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Civilized Human Beings

After assuring Sarah that she could dry herself without assistance, Devon retreated to the house and squeezed water out of her hair and quickly toweled off. Annoyed as she was at the embarrassment of being dumped in the pool – and who knew Charlotte was so childish – it afforded her the opportunity she had been hoping for.

When she emerged from the bathroom, her dignity more or less repaired along with her makeup, the house was empty. After a quick scan of the great room, she ran upstairs and found the master suite. From her purse she pulled a plastic baggie containing a complicated knot of vari-colored string. A little pinesap served to bind the whole thing together and make it a sticky nuisance. She lifted the Monahan's mattress and wedged the ball of sap and string as close to the center of the bed as she could. Her task accomplished, she arranged the bedclothes as if nothing had happened and left the room.

As Devon stepped into the hall and turned toward the stairs, she gasped when she came face to face with a puzzled Charlie Monahan.

"Hi?" he said, making it a question. The witch wondered how much he had seen.

"Oh! Hello. Charlie, isn't it?"

The boy nodded cautiously. "Are you looking for something?"

"Oh. Yes." Devon laughed self-deprecatingly and gestured at her still-damp green wrap and hair. "I fell in the pool and I've already soaked through the towel your mother gave me – she was so sweet to help – so I was trying to find another one."

"Oh. Okay." Charlie moved past her and into his parents' bedroom and the bathroom beyond. Devon stood in the middle of the bedroom and cursed herself for a fool for not getting any hair or nail clippings from the bathroom. It was too late now, and she probably wouldn't get another chance. The boy reappeared with a neatly folded dry towel and handed it over.

"Thank you, Charlie."

"No problem."

Crisis averted, Devon took her towel back downstairs with the thought that she still might be able to find something she could use to control the Monahans in the house. She was still feeling around the couch cushions when the towel was snatched from her hand and shoved roughly in her face, pressing her mouth closed and making it difficult to breathe. One very strong arm circled her waist and lifted her bodily. The towel covered her entire face, so she could see nothing beyond it. She kicked and tried to scream, but that caused her to quickly run out of breath. Her flailing limbs connected with her assailant's a few times, but the arm around her remained iron solid.

A door banged open and then shut, and she found herself dumped unceremoniously on a hard, tile floor. She was too stunned to do more than pant and scrabble to get her feet under her, banging her arm on a toilet as she did, but did not get far. Those same strong arms went around her again, one holding her arms against her sides and pressing her back against her attacker. The other hand clamped across her mouth and nose, again making it hard to get enough air. He stood there while she kicked and flailed, unmoved by any of it, until she tired herself out and had to dangle from his arms and concentrate on breathing. The witch already thought she could guess whose prisoner she was, but her heart still sank when Dylan spoke.

"As much as I would love to hurt you, Devon, this is neither the time nor the place, so stop fighting. You can't win anyway. I think we both know I've got far more experience in subduing people like you than you have of escaping people like me, so you can count yourself lucky that I don't plan on killing you today anyway. Do you understand?"

"Mmph."

"Good. So, to recap, you poisoned my wife without provocation, invaded my home, poisoned her _again_ and seemed quite willing to cause me some nasty burns mere minutes ago. Did I leave anything out?"

Devon swallowed heavily but remained silent.

"If circumstances been different, I would have already cheerfully snapped your neck and been miles away by now, but seeing as how we're trying so hard to be civilized human beings here, I will give you a fair warning. I know you and Peg fancy yourselves witches, and I admit I don't know much about that or what you're capable of, so here's my proposition. If anything unfortunate happens to me or my family, I will hold you personally responsible. If Claire is struck by lightening, I will come after _you_. If my daughter falls off her skateboard and breaks an arm, I will consider _you_ culpable. Furthermore, if you so much as _look_ at me cross-eyed, I will juice you like an orange. Have I made myself clear?"

"Mmph."

"Good. Now leave and don't come back."

He released her suddenly and she nearly fell to the floor again, but caught herself on the sink. Without stopping to question her good fortune at surviving such an interview, she pushed off of the sink and tore the door open, all thoughts of finding scraps of the Monahans forgotten. She pushed past someone who had apparently been waiting for the bathroom, and raced for the front door and the dubious safety of sunlight.

When Dylan emerged to watch Devon's flight from the house with satisfaction, he was surprised to find Zach and Charlotte standing mere yards away, their pool party gear slung over their shoulders.

Charlotte frowned and, glancing after Devon, opened her mouth to speak. Dylan cut her off.

"Leaving already?" he asked.

"Yeah," Zach answered, further frustrating Charlotte's curiosity. "We've got a thing to go to. See you around, Dylan."

"It was good to meet you."

Dylan remained long enough to see Devon's SUV speed past the house, then turned toward the patio again. The party had grown livelier after Devon's impromptu swim, and the children had taken over the deep end of the pool. The sun seemed hotter now. Emily ran up to her father, a soccer ball huge in her small hands.

"Daddy! Daddy! Looklooklook!" she cried and tossed the ball high in the air. She stared up at it, arms stretched out, and jumped to head-butt it back up. She caught it twice more before hitting it at an awkward angle and butting it into the pool. She grinned at him. "Dana taught me!" She frowned and tipped her head. "You look red."

Dylan stepped back into the meager shade of the roof overhang and squinted up at the sky. A cool wind kicked up from a bank of clouds that had appeared over the rooftops. They could not move in fast enough for Dylan. "Yes, I think it might be time to leave soon, Em. Say good bye to your friends."

"Aww… But we only just got here!"

"Emily Anne."

Emily pouted but submitted to the power of the Middle Name and only trotted unhappily behind her father as he went in search of Nick. The police chief still stood over the grill where Dylan had left him. Charlie stood awkwardly nearby while his father gave him tips on outdoor cooking. Nick handed the tongs over to his son as Dylan approached.

"She's still alive, right?" Nick murmured.

"And in one piece, even. I only wanted to let her know I didn't appreciate the spritzing."

"You're looking red."

"So Emily tells me. I hope you don't mind my leaving so suddenly, but…"

"Yeah. I'd hate to have to explain your charred corpse to Claire."

"What about the first basemen? I saw them leave."

"I don't know. I think…" Nick shrugged. "I think Zach's okay."

"You're too trusting. They might have been only casing your house."

"Listen, Dylan, I was on homicide for three years. I got a feel for people. I knew you had something to hide from the minute I met you, but I don't get that feeling from Zach. I think he's okay."

"Your funeral," Dylan murmured. "If you survive, tell me what else you find out.

Eager to end the conversation and escape to the darkness of his own home, the vampire collected his daughter and left the Monahans. It was only later, after the shades were drawn and he inspected the damage from the sun that he noted how the sunscreen had worn off more quickly than usual.

* * *

Andie paused in her reading of one of Dr. Mueller's Big Chief tablets and rubbed her eyes. Mia tossed hers onto the small pile on the couch and slumped back.

"That's it," Mia said. She pointed at the tablet in Andie's hand. "That's the last one. I even looked under Mom's bed."

Andie spread the pile out, four tablets plus the one in her hand, and none of any help to her.

"I thought witches were supposed to have spell books and stuff."

Mia shrugged. "Mom says writing spells down makes the magic brittle. These are just notes and field guides on how to find supplies."

"Isn't there a spell that can cure me or something? Like an exorcism?"

"I don't think that's how this works."

"But do you know how to do one?"

"Yeah…"

"We should try that! What can it hurt?"

"Um… we'd have to kill a pig. And I don't think you're possessed anyway." Mia frowned down at the pile of booklets. "Y'know, Mom keeps a big box of stuff in the attic. Maybe there's something in there." She grinned at Andie. "I'm totally not supposed to go up there."

"Oh." Andie sat forward with a thoughtful face. "Why not?"

"Mom says it's dangerous. She says that about a lot of magic, though. I guess I'd have to have a really good excuse to go digging around in the too-dangerous-to-teach-it-to-Mia magic. Did I say excuse? I meant let's get up there before Mom comes home and finds us." Mia jumped up and hauled a giggling Andie off the couch and toward the stairs.

The trunk had wedged itself into a corner, but left enough room between it and the wall for the lid to open. It seemed almost like an invitation to Mia. The girls tiptoed across the wooden slats to the corner and squatted in front of the trunk. Mia was well enough acquainted with magic to hold her breath as she opened the lid, but forgot to tell Andie. Her friend reeled back at the smell – something like eucalyptus and road kill – and nearly fell over.

"Sorry 'bout that," Mia said. "Should'a warned you. Magic is a stinky business."

"Funny how you never get that impression from TV," Andie said in a muted voice, and swallowed hard.

The trunk seemed to house mostly colored glass jars and bottles with mysterious, semi-liquid contents. The jars and bottles rested on a bed of paper bags containing dried bits of plants. They seemed to be the source of the odor. In amongst the glass and paper were occasional odd items, such as a corncob pipe, a cloth bag with two curved pieces of bone inside, and other odds and ends. The walls and lid of the trunk were lined with pockets, one of which hid an aging leather-bound sheaf of loose papers.

The girls stood under the single window to better see the fading ink on the pages as they shuffled through them looking for anything even remotely helpful.

"Ooh!" Mia shouted, making Andie jump and drop her half of the papers. Too excited to notice the look Andie gave her, Mia started reading out loud. "To discourage an incubus—"

"A what?" Andie asked from the floor as she collected the papers together.

"Incubus. It's a male succubus. Okay, okay. 'To discourage an incubus… Fermented betony root, a dose of corn liquor, to drop rice or corn by the bed, to wear a man's bedclothes, to raise the bed up high, to insert a raw onion into the—' whoa." Mia's eyebrows rose. "I think that would discourage anyone." She flipped the page over. "Huh. Says here you can trap it in a blue bottle. Or kill it with cold iron. Doesn't say how, though."

"Does it say anything about curing an incubus?"

"No, just killing it. Then it talks about 'promoting courses.' Wonder what that means." She scanned the rest of the pages and shook her head. "That's all it says." She gave Andie a sympathetic look. Her friend sighed and handed the papers back.

"Thanks anyway."

They put the papers back as they had found them and returned to the living room. Andie turned the TV on to a sitcom neither of them laughed at. Mia kept looking over at her friend, thinking hard. Finally, while the show's credits rolled, she spoke.

"Andie? I was thinking. There is one other witch in town." Andie looked at her with cautious hope, afraid to be disappointed. Mia chewed her lip and continued. "It's Devon Buckley. She runs that day spa. She and Mom don't like each other, so I've never really talked to her. She might know something."

"You think I should ask her for help?"

"Maybe. She's a little scary, though."

"Scary how?"

"She made Mrs. Radcliff really sick."

"She's married to that creepy guy, isn't she?"

"Mr. Radcliff isn't creepy!"

"He was creepy."

"Your face is creepy."

Andie gave her friend a long look and broke into a teasing grin. "You have a crush on this Radcliff guy, don't you?"

"I do not!"

"Do so."

"Shut up or you get no more help from me."

"Okay, fine," Andie said, though the grin remained in place. Mia tried to be thankful she was smiling at all, but it was difficult. "Maybe this other witch didn't mean to make her sick. Or maybe she had a good reason. Don't give me that look."

"It's just an idea, and it might be a bad one, so… y'know, just don't go to her without me, okay? Promise?"

"Promise." They turned their attention back to the TV. After a few minutes Andie began very quietly to chant, "Mia and Creepy Guy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S – Oof!" Andie quit chanting, her words cut short by a violently hurled pillow.


	28. Storms Brewing

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

A/N: Hoo boy, have I had a busy week. Between one thing and another, I was unable to finish Ch 29 in time for it to be posted on Fri. So, in the interest of building up a back log of chapters to post, I won't be posting this week (5/6) but the next chapter will be posted on 5/13. Sorry for the delay, guys.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Storms Brewing

The sun peeked out between two houses, bathing Zachary Ross's back porch in fading pinks and oranges. A cold wind kicked up in gusts, rustling tree branches still green from summer. Young children played, unabashedly naked and in whatever form suited them at the moment, defiant of the cold. The older children sat or stood on the porch with the adults, too cool to play with such abandon and too hyperaware of their own budding sexuality to risk being caught without clothing if they transformed. A few of the adults lazed around in wolf form, but most were in human guise for the sake of gossip. There were even a few full humans present, the spouses of pack members. Karen sat in the middle of a hanging swing, flanked by her beta and gamma, a barbarian queen at her court.

Since the fight with Simon, the notoriety of the three highest women in the pack had grown. The men's gamma kept a respectful distance from them, sticking close to Zach at the grill, and the eyes of the rest of the women in the pack never strayed from the three of them for long. Even Tammy's husband enjoyed greater friendliness from the pack, which had until now made no secret of its moderate case of xenophobia.

Karen surveyed her little backyard kingdom and rained down smiles and praise on her women indiscriminately in a rough voice. Though the skin of her neck showed no sign of the fight a few days ago, the internal damage had not yet completely healed. The evening was perfect, and a waxing moon would be out soon. The Fords had not shown themselves at the pack meeting, and judging by the knot of men standing around Zach at the grill, quite a few of the pack members were willing to take Simon's absence as tacit surrender. She wondered if it was too early to declare victory and go running as a pack, with she and Zach on point. Probably. One must not get ahead of oneself. Especially when there were other factors to consider.

Karen stood, and immediately all eyes were on her. She caught Zach's eye, twitched her head toward the house and turned to go inside. The men's beta handed command of the grill off to one of the men clustered around him and followed Karen inside. Tammy did likewise, leaving Charlotte to hold down the fort outside and direct conversation away from what the other three might be doing.

Karen led the way upstairs, far enough from prying ears that they could speak freely.

"Okay," she rasped when she felt it was safe to talk. "What did you learn?"

Zach recounted his brief interaction with Dylan at the Monahans.

"Has anyone seen Claire lately?" Karen asked.

Tammy shook her head. "I saw Dylan the other morning, dropping Emily off at school," she volunteered. "He said Claire was out of town, then, too. Charlotte says Claire never goes out of town. Not on her own, anyway. It's unlike her."

Karen nodded, trusting Charlotte's memory for neighborhood goings-on.

"You think something's happened to her," Zach said to Karen.

"Maybe. She's always active with the school and the fundraising committee, but I haven't seen her for days. Not since she went in to see Dr. Mueller. She looked –" Karen's voice broke and she coughed, unable to continue. Zach touched her arm, and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"She looked terrible," Tammy finished for her alpha. Like she was wasting away."

"Like her vampire husband was draining her off a little at a time?" Zach asked.

"Maybe," Karen whispered to spare her voice. "You said you smelled vampire on Lukas the other day."

"I said I think I did. It was faint, like when you carry a marking back with you just by sniffing it yourself."

"But Emily's in third grade," Tammy pointed out. "That's a completely different part of the school."

Zach shrugged. "It's a big complex. If he dropped his daughter off the other day and got lost, his scent could have ended up anywhere. Lukas could have shaken hands with him. That other smell, the strange one I told you about, it was stronger than the vampire smell."

"Bleeding?" Karen asked, one hand to her throat.

"Lukas? No. I didn't smell any blood. When he woke up, I asked him what happened, but he said he didn't remember." Zach shook his head. "He could be lying, but I can't imagine why."

Tammy held up a hand. "Quick reality check, people. On the one hand, we could be completely wrong. Dylan could be totally innocent. It might be someone else, and Dylan himself might be next on the menu. It might be someone coming in from Franklin. There might not even _be_ a vampire." She put her hands on her hips and frowned at the floor. "On the other hand, he might have killed his wife, which doesn't look good for his daughter."

"One of us needs to get in the house and scent the place, get some proof," Zach said. The women nodded agreement. He crossed his arms and turned to the window, thinking. "If we smell vampire, we get the kid out immediately. Then we can…" He frowned and focused on something outside. "Hell," he swore, and ran past the women toward the stairs.

Karen moved to look down through the window into the back yard. The children had stopped playing and Charlotte stood on the porch steps as if barring entrance to the house. A few yards in front of her Simon Ford stood, his arms loose at his side his face set in stern lines.

Muffled shouting echoed up through the house as Karen and Tammy raced downstairs, stepping over pieces of Zach's discarded clothing as they went. She wondered if Zach and Simon had attacked each other yet, and if Simon's humiliation was complete enough to ensure a victory for the beta through pack coup if necessary. She slowed to a more dignified and unworried walk when she reached the porch.

Zach and Simon stood a few feet from each other. The beta was already in wolf form and showing teeth, but the alpha showed no sign of accepting the challenge. One glance around the back yard explained why. The women of the pack, those who had witnessed the beginning of Simon's attack on Karen stood in stony silence, eyes narrowed and here and there exposing their teeth. Most of the men were on four legs, standing in front of the women, focused with laser intensity on the two pack leaders, ready to move in at the least provocation. As she took in the scene, Karen wondered why no one had acted yet, but soon discovered the reason.

"… of this pack!" Simon was speaking loudly enough to be heard by the entire pack, not quite shouting as there was no need to involve the neighbors. "Whatever else you may think of my methods of maintaining pack discipline, no one here can claim that I ever put anything ahead of the safety of our pack. I have proof that there is a vampire here in the Gates, and you all know that endangers every member of this pack, men, women, and children." He turned to Zach. "If you want to challenge, go ahead. I'll kick your ass today, just like I did two years ago, 'less you're such a coward you'd call on the rest of the pack to do what you can't do yourself. But consider that I'm the only one here who's ever killed a vampire. You kill me? Chase me off? You'd be on your own, just like my pack was the first time we got into in with those goddamn bloodsuckers. You want that?" He looked out over the yard and raised his voice. "Anyone here want that?"

The pack's silence was answer enough. In the space of an eye blink, Zach stood on human legs again, fully nude. No one in the pack batted an eye, though a few human in-laws developed a sudden interest in an incoming cloudbank. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright," he said, his voice barely more than a growl. "I'll hear you out for the sake of the pack. Make it good."

Simon recounted a harrowing chase through the streets of the Gates, how he outsmarted the vampire by tiring him out and finally outpacing him. He identified the vampire as Dylan Radcliff and suggested an immediate attack.

"Tomorrow morning," Simon said. "As soon as the sun is up. He'll be at his weakest and he won't be expecting us."

"When did this chase happen?" Karen croaked, trying to raise her voice enough to be heard.

"A few days ago," Simon hedged. He shrugged.

"It was the night you attacked us, wasn't it?" Charlotte accused. "When else would you be running through the streets with your tail between your legs?" That garnered a few malicious smirks from the pack.

"If Dylan's so dangerous, why hasn't he attacked us yet? He obviously knows we're here," Zach asked.

"He may know we're here, but he doesn't know _who_ we are," the alpha answered. "You can bet your ass if he did, we'd already be counting the dead. I'm going to be there tomorrow morning at dawn. Anyone who cares more about the pack than politics can join me."

One of the men who had not transformed at Simon's arrival raised a hand.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll go. My grandmother told stories about vampires. If half of what she said was true, we're all in trouble."

Two wolves stepped forward and barked their agreement. Though there still remained a number of skeptical faces, especially among the women, the political tide had turned. Simon met Karen's eyes over Zach's shoulder and his mouth twitched in the hint of a victorious smirk. Karen nodded back, a tight, closed-lipped smile on her face. Simon had won the battle, but the war was far from over.

"Love? Where are you going?" Nick stood on the stairs and frowned as Sarah shrugged into her coat. The wind had picked up outside.

"Devon left her punch bowl behind. I'm going to drop it off to her."

"Now? It's kind late, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but after the thing with the pool, I feel like I should talk to her in person. She ran out of here so fast…" Sarah shook her head and spread her hands. Nick shrugged.

"Drive careful."

"Definitely."

Devon had tea ready by the time Sarah arrived at the spa. She had already closed for the night, so Devon sat Sarah at one of the display tables without fear of interruption while she stood behind the main counter and checked the labels on the jars and bowls in front of her against a page in an oversized leather-bound book and a legal pad filled with notes beside it. She had to modify a spell in the book, and could only hope it worked.

"I'm so sorry about today," Sarah said, and blew over her oriental tea cup. "I can't imagine why Charlotte would do that."

"Really?" _Copper… check. Water… check_. "I can. Karen and her little pack of friends have never tried to hide the fact that they can't stand me."

"That's what I don't understand about this place, Devon. Claire and her friends don't get along with Karen and her friends, and I can't see any reason for it. Sure Karen can be overbearing, but she's a good person. And, yeah, Claire's a little snobbish, but once you get past that she's friendly."

"Well, you know how it goes, Sarah." _Blood… check. Sunscreen… check_. "Some people just rub each other the wrong way." _That should about do it, except…_ "Damn."

"Hm? Something wrong?" Sarah made as if to stand. "What are you doing back there?"

"Nothing, Sarah, don't give it another thought."

"Oh." A dreamy crossed Sarah's face and her eyes unfocused for a moment. "Okay."

Devon leaned both hands on the counter and cursed herself silently. The potion had to sit in the sun in order to work properly, but it was well past sunset now. She tapped her finger on the counter. Could she postpone it until tomorrow? Maybe, but Dylan might have figured out something was wrong by then, called Claire and wrecked the whole thing. Why couldn't that vampire bitch have been at the Monahans'? It would have made everything so much easier. She turned to her spell book and leafed through its pages.

Sarah's eyes refocused and she took another sip of her tea. "Anyway," she said. "It makes me nervous. Like any moment now, they're going to expect me to choose sides."

"Hm…" Devon found the page she was searching for. She ran a finger down a column of illuminated text and smiled to herself in relief. "Sarah? I love your earrings. Are they real gold?"

"Oh, thank you. Yes. They were my grandmother's." She touched one of the little rose-shaped studs and smiled.

"And you're sure they're real gold?"

"Well, yeah." Sarah frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Devon reached under the counter and fingered a mass of blue and black feathers on a shelf. "They're so beautiful, Sarah, would you mind giving them to me?"

Sarah's eyes unfocused, but she blinked and shook her head in puzzlement. "What? No, they were…"

"Sarah. Please."

"Okay." Sarah unclasped the earrings and walked them over to the counter.

"Thank you, Sarah."

Devon swept the earrings off the counter and dropped them in a bowl at her elbow. The book promised that the gold would represent sunlight well enough for the spell to work. The other ingredients joined the earrings in the bowl in short order while Sarah resumed her seat silently and blinked down into her teacup.

While Sarah sat quietly, Devon unfolded a map of Franklin and laid it out on the counter. Humming softly, she opened a jar and sprinkled a powder out onto the map, making sure to cover the city evenly. Still humming, she upended the little vial containing Claire's blood onto her finger as if ready to dab on perfume. Instead of dabbing, she touched the drop of blood to her tongue with only minimal hesitation and recited the vampire's name out loud.

A spot on the map began to smoke, and a tiny flame sprang up. The witch let out a surprised "Oh!" and quickly blew it out. A glance at Sarah assured her that her pawn was still staring blankly into the middle distance. Devon spat the vampire's blood into a napkin and made a note of the intersection now marked by a singed hole in the map.

"Sarah," she said, as she poured her potion into an empty Dasani water bottle. "I think you're right. You should talk to Claire, get all this silly drama out in the open." She handed the bottle off to Sarah. "And as luck would have it, I know just where you can find her."


	29. Drinking and Driving

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Drinking and Driving

Claire emerged from the hotel's revolving door, clutching her coat around her in a sudden chill wind, and nearly bowled Russo over as the other vampire attempted to enter the building.

"Freud!" Claire said, startled.

"Jung." Russo stepped back and nodded a greeting. "I was hoping to find you tonight."

"Yes, well, you've found me. Congratulations. Good bye." Claire moved past the woman into the parking lot.

"No, wait!" Russo jogged to catch up. "I think I might have found one of Dorothy's hidey-holes. I didn't see her, but I definitely saw two of her fledges. I'm going after them tonight and I could use some backup."

"Didn't you dump this in my lap last night? I thought you had better things to do." Claire picked up her pace as much as she could in spiked heels.

"Yeah, well, unlike some people I have a sense of responsibility."

To Claire's consternation, Russo easily kept pace. Claire stopped and turned to face the woman. She had not realized last night how small Russo was. Claire would be inches taller, even without her heels. She turned her collar up and shoved her hands deep in her coat pockets. Her fingers closed on the smooth form of the glass dolphin. After Russo's abrupt appearance and revelation the night before, Claire had thought it better to be safe than sorry where the charm was concerned, and carried it out with her. A steady, cold wind blew in from the northwest, chilling her.

"What was that?" Claire asked. "Was that… did you just try to _guilt_ me?"

"God forbid. Are you coming or not?"

"No. I find I'm in need of some – what did you call it? Sublimation."

"But, the girl. Last night."

Claire raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't kill her."

"Yes, Hobbes, we've had this conversation."

"You saved her from one of them. Look, if someone doesn't take these guys out, they're going to keep killing innocent people. Someone's got to stop them, and tonight I've got a lead."

Claire shook her head and smiled politely. "I don't follow."

"What's not to follow? We're going to save the city, possibly the whole Midwest."

"You said there were six or seven of these vampires, didn't you?"

"Five or six now, but I only saw two tonight."

"Yes, well, I still don't like those odds."

"They're fledglings."

"Fledges."

"Whatever. You took on that guy last night. It's the same odds."

"I was hunting then. We were after the same mark. That changes everything."

Russo frowned and crossed her arms. "But you didn't kill her."

"Well…"

"If you were hunting, why didn't you kill her?"

Realizing she had said too much, Claire backpedaled. "He was hunting in my family's territory and –"

"Uh-uh. You said you were after the same mark." Russo tipped her head and gave Claire a narrow-eyed look. "You picked her out to kill her, but you changed your mind. Why?"

"I did no such thing."

Claire turned and walked briskly toward her car at the far end of the lot. Russo stayed at her elbow, quiet for once and frowning down at her sensible shoes. Claire sped up and nearly ran the last few yards to the car, but her unwanted companion was only a step behind. In her haste to escape, Claire fumbled out her keys and accidentally pushed the button to unlock all the car's doors. Russo took her chance and scrambled into the passenger seat just as Claire sat in the driver's and pushed the "lock" button.

"Oh!" Claire gripped the steering wheel and straightened her arms, pushing her back into the seat. "If you don't get out of my car this instant," she said with a forced calm, "I will drive you into the country and kill you."

Russo crossed her arms and watched Claire in the darkness of the cab, a puzzled crease between her eyebrows.

"What?" Claire asked. "You don't think I'll do it?" She smiled and leaned toward Russo, her hands still on the steering wheel. "Or do you think you think you can take me?"

Russo settled back in her seat, and though she kept the same expression on her face, she seemed to somehow pull into herself and away from Claire.

"Have it your way, Russo."

Claire put the car in gear and backed out of the parking space. Soon she was on a busy street driving north. They would be out of the city within the hour, in sparsely populated countryside, no witnesses, no help. Traffic was stop and go, but Russo made no move to exit the vehicle. Her silence filled the car like smoke, a suffocating presence Claire could not ignore.

"Well, say something," she demanded after several minutes. "Or are you thinking of your final words? You'd better make them good or I simply won't remember them. Final words are no use if no one remembers them. You might as well have said nothing at all." Claire realized she was babbling to fill the silence and stopped. As she no longer breathed habitually, Claire only noticed how the odor of strange vampire had built up in the car when she inhaled to speak. She curled her nose and cracked the window. The sound of rushing air helped ease her tension.

"What's your name?" Russo asked, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.

Claire tilted her head minutely in Russo's direction and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Russo said, "I saw your ID, but I know those are all fake. What's your real name?"

"You're quite young, aren't you?"

"Two years. What of it?"

"A word of advice, Freud. Never tell anyone your age, and immediately attempt to murder any vampire who asks you for it. They are sizing you up." Claire shrugged. "Not that it matters, I suppose, since I shall be murdering you in short order anyway."

"No, you won't."

"I'm afraid the odds are against you. I'm bigger and decades more experienced than you. Also, there is a light grayish cast to your skin that tells me you haven't been eating very well."

"Fair enough, but there's something you're not taking into account."

Claire's eyebrow went up again.

"I'm armed."

"Oh. How disappointing. What with?"

"A .38. And you're not."

"Quite true." Claire nodded once. "We'll call it a draw. Shall I drop you at the next corner?"

"No. We're going to bag us a couple of vampires tonight before they move again."

"Will we. Well, I happen to have one last trick up my sleeve." Claire pressed on the gas and the car leapt forward. Traffic had thinned out, and now the car whizzed past the few other vehicles on the road. "You see, I am considered somewhat reckless even by vampiric standards. It' been the cause of no small amount of grief for my family, I assure you. Observe." The vampire removed her hands from the steering wheel and folded them neatly in her lap.

Russo gave her a sharp glare. "Are you crazy? Take the wheel!"

Claire gave her a serene smile as the car began to drift to the left, out of its lane.

"You've made your point, Radcliff, now take the fucking wheel!" Russo leaned over and saw the speedometer. "Christ!" She grabbed the wheel and jerked them back into their lane. The instant her fingers touched the wheel, Claire's left hand clamped over hers and she drove her right elbow into Russo's nose. Russo cried out and covered the lower part of her face with her free hand.

"I want your gun, Russo," Claire purred. She maintained the car's speed. "If you try to pull your hand free, you'll wreck us. We'll probably survive the crash, but whereas I have family to come to my rescue, you have no one or you would be pestering _them_."

Russo hesitated, blood leaking out from between her fingers.

"The gun, Russo," Claire repeated. "Slowly, or I push the boundaries of vampire healing for both of us."

Russo snarled, but reached slowly into her jacket to pull the firearm from its shoulder holster. She held it with thumb and forefinger, smearing blood on the butt as she dropped it into Claire's lap as directed. Claire picked up the gun and released Russo's trapped hand. She licked the blood from the butt and let the car slow.

"Thank you, Russo. I think we've learned a valuable lesson tonight: don't press your luck."

Blood dripped down Russo's chin and pat-pattered onto her dark pant leg. She touched the bridge of her nose gingerly.

"Oh, dear," Claire tutted. "Have I broken it?"

Russo glowered at her.

"Oh, don't give me that look. You'll heal. Mostly because I've decided that I want a drink and I've remembered how I hate drinking alone. I'm afraid we'll have to return to Rue Bar. There aren't many places one can get a proper drink around here, and most of them are rather… sticky." She curled her nose delicately.

"So go to the Red Door." Russo's voice was thick. She wiped her face and licked the red from her hand.

"No." The finality of her refusal gathered a sharp look from Russo. Claire continued in a neutral voice, "Anyway, I think I can get us drinks on the house at Rue. What do you say?"

Russo shrugged and settled back in her seat, which was assent enough for Claire to turn the car around at the next light.

ONE HOUR LATER

"So then my sergeant said, 'You're standing in him!' Thank God forensics had finished or I'd have been on a slab next to him."

Claire leaned back and laughed before finishing off her glass of wine.

ONE AND A HALF HOURS LATER

"Not the Matthew Broderick one, surely!"

"Nononono." Russo waved her hand and took another sip of her gin and tonic. "Robert Preston all the way."

"Good. I can't stand the man."

TWO HOURS LATER

"Seriously, Claire, why didn't you kill that woman? Why didn't you kill me?"

"Don't push it; I might yet."

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER

"And so he decides that we shouldn't hunt anymore! I understand the need for secrecy, but I don't see why that means we can't hunt." Claire frowned down at her third martini… or was it her fourth? She shook her head. "Well, in principle anyway. I may pass over this person or that person, but that's at my discretion." She slapped the tabletop, and Russo straightened from where she had been leaning on her elbow. "And _that's_ the point! We need a little ultra-violence every once in a while, Sigmund. It's just how we are. _They_ need other people to talk to, to sympathize with them. _We _need people to fight with."

"But fighting's not killing," Russo pointed out. "There's a big difference."

"No. Dylan and I box sometimes, and that takes the pressure off, but there's nothing quite like taking it to that extreme."

Russo finished her drink and tapped a finger on the table thoughtfully. She jumped when Claire kicked the table leg.

"Oh, now I'm thinking about it," Claire complained.

"I've got something for you to kill."

"Not your vampires again. They've probably moved on. It's been hours."

"Can't hurt to look."

Claire swirled her martini around its glass and, with a shrug, knocked back the rest of it. "S'pose not," she agreed and lurched to her feet. Russo gave her an assessing look.

"Actually, Claire, maybe we should wait 'til tomorrow," Russo suggested.

"Oh, no. Don't worry. I'm fine." Claire made a grab for her purse, missed, and tried again. "I used to live quite the adventurous life before Dylan and I settled down and adopted – er, a puppy." Claire winced. "I've kicked more ass pissed than you've sat on sober. Let's go."

Claire stood and wound her way through the tables, stumbling only once. Russo followed a few steps behind. At the exit, Claire twisted her head around to peer at her companion.

"Why the dour face? You got what you wa—oh!"

While speaking to Russo, Claire had forgotten to watch where she was going and plowed straight into a woman on her way in. The woman dropped her water bottle and its contents splashed all over Claire's feet. The vampire held her hair out of her face as she bent to inspect the damage. She wiggled one foot, sending water droplets onto the pavement. The wet made her feet cold in a distant way, as if that last martini intercepted the signal before it reached her brain.

"I'm so sorry!" The woman began. "I didn't see – Claire?"

The vampire straightened and her raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Sarah? What are you doing all the way out here?"

Sarah Monahan took a step back to let a couple of patrons past her and into the bar.

"I was looking for you, actually," she said. "I thought – I think we need to talk."

"About what?" Claire, too, stepped away from the door and onto the sidewalk. "How did you know to find me here?"

"Um…" Sarah's brow beetled and her eyes slid past Claire for a moment, unfocusing as they did.

"Ehm… Sarah?"

"She high or something?" Russo murmured behind her.

"Sarah? I don't think she knows what the word means. Listen, Sarah." The woman's eyes focused again on Claire. "We're going to have to talk another time, I'm afraid. I've got an errand to run."

"Oh." Sarah's eyes suddenly snapped wide open and she took a step back. "Oh! Nick told me about you and Dylan. He told me what you are."

Russo took a closer look at Sarah. "Who's Nick?" she asked.

"Never mind," Claire said, cutting her off. "Sarah? A word to the wise. The next time Nick tells you that you are acquainted with dangerous people, it's probably best not to seek them out at night, alone. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you myself, but it's not as if you would have believed me anyway. Now, I think it's best for all involved if you just hurried along home where you'll be safe." She shot Russo a warning glare. The blonde responded with an innocent shrug.

Before Sarah could respond, Claire took Russo by the arm and started down the street toward her car, half dragging the other vampire with her. Though she knew she was being unforgivably rude to poor Sarah, the pleasant alcohol buzz in her head got in the way of any more subtle means of separating the human from Russo. The blonde might be pleasant enough company for a vampire, but she was still a vampire, and therefore could not be trusted to play nice with the humans, especially when the human in question as much as openly admitted that she knew their secret.

Luckily, Sarah did not pursue them, only stood on the sidewalk with a dazed expression as they walked away. Claire only released Russo's arm when she reached the car and they had to separate to get in.

"What was that about?" Russo asked when they were settled in their seats.

"None of your business, I'm afraid." Claire started to back out, almost clipped the car parked on their right, and tried again.

"Hey, you think you should be driving?"

Claire snorted. "You've seen me drive sober. How much worse can I possibly be? Now, where to?"

"I think we should do this another night."

"You were the one in such a hurry."

"Yeah, that was three hours ago."

"Well, you've got help now. You might not have it tomorrow."

"This isn't exactly how I imagined it."

"That's life for you." Claire sighed. "You get a husband, a house, a – puppy." She glanced at Russo out of the corner of her eye and the other vampire raised an eyebrow. "And you try to make this life, but damn it all, it's so _boring_. It's nothing at all how you envisioned it."

"It's suburbia. I think they did that on purpose."

Claire ignored her and ran a red light amidst a chorus of protesting car horns. "Don't get me wrong. I love my husband, and I love my… puppy. But that doesn't exactly fill the hours, you know. I thought maybe a little hunting, a little time spent with someone a little less, well, _safe_ would help. You know, get the blood flowing." She grinned. "But then Barbara shows up in the middle of it all, and I _knew_ her. I can't just kill someone I _know_ simply because I was hungry. How terribly rude."

"And the bartender the other night?"

"Well. She seemed like such a nice girl. Oh." Claire abruptly banged her forehead down on the steering wheel. "This is a disaster. I'm bored stiff and surrounded by harpies at home, but I can't bear to hunt."

"Claire! The road, dammit! Eyes on the road!"

Claire sat up and steered calmly out of oncoming traffic back into the right lane. More horns blared.

"What else is there?" Claire asked miserably. "Is this it? Is this the rest of my life? Trapped in suburban hell?"

Russo sat stiffly in her seat, one hand gripping the shoulder strap of the seat belt.

"Claire," she ground out through clenched teeth. "Would you mind not having your existential crisis in the middle of traffic?"

"Well where else should I have it?"

"The bar seemed ideal. Anyway, you missed the turn."

"Oh. I'll just U-turn, then." Claire prepared to whip the car across four lanes of traffic.

"No! Pull over. I will drive us there. Any minute now five black-and-whites are going to appear on the horizon, lights flashing."

"Oh, alright." She squinted. "I'm not quite sure where we are, anyway. I don't remember any eight-lane highways in Franklin." Claire switched lanes without looking and cut off a pick-up. Tires squealed as she whipped into a gas station, leaving black marks on the pavement behind her.

A minute later, Russo merged safely into traffic. She even used the turn signal.


	30. Mirror, Mirror

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Mirror, Mirror

Without bothering to knock, Peg opened Devon's apartment door. The distant sound of rummaging and banging stopped abruptly.

"Devon, it's me," the witch announced. "I'm alone. Can I come in?"

The blonde peeked around a corner into the foyer. "On a scale of one to ten, how stupid do you think I am?" Devon asked.

"Well, on a scale of one to feuding with vampires, I'd say you're on the level with a bonobo." She stepped across the threshold. "I just thought it was worth a try. I don't actually need an invitation."

Devon's eyes narrowed, and she stepped partway into the foyer, her right hand still hidden behind the wall.

"What do you want?" Devon asked.

"I want you to convince you to stop. This fight you're picking with the Radcliffs, the tea, all of it. It needs to stop."

"Oh." Devon smirked and set down out of sight whatever had been in her hand and leaned against the wall. She crossed her arms. "Is this another 'don't do this at home' speech? After your little B and E adventure, it seems a little hypocritical."

Peg sighed and shook her head at the floor. "You were casting powerful and malicious spells. Did you expect me to just sit by and wait for you to get around to me?"

"You really think I'd go after you?" Devon tilted her head and puckered her lips in a way that was probably supposed to convey concern. "We used to be such good friends, Peg. What happened to us?"

Peg scowled. She really hated how Devon managed to say her name in such a patronizing way. Names should not be thrown around with such abandon, especially by a witch.

"You took what I taught you, opened your spa a block away from my practice and stole half my patients," Peg reminded her.

"Oh. Right." She gave Peg a smug smile. "Capitalism's a bitch, isn't it?"

"It's not the only thing. If you won't listen to reason, at least take this." Peg pulled a paper sack out of her purse and held it out to Devon, who snorted and remained where she stood, arms crossed. "It's an heirloom. My great, great grandmother received it from another witch. It's done me nothing but good. Take it."

"I'm not taking anything from you."

Peg shrugged and reached into the bag. Devon straightened and reached around the corner again, but relaxed when her mentor pulled a small silver-backed mirror from the bag. She put it on a table by the door, nodded good-bye and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

Devon shook her head and turned to go back to packing. With the vampires neutralized during the day, she only had to stay put until dawn and then she would be able to leave the Gates safely and never come back. One might not be able to escape one's destiny, but Devon felt confident she could delay it indefinitely.

Halfway down the hallway, she paused, thinking of the mirror. It was obviously a trick of some kind, but one she was unfamiliar with. The best course of action would probably be to get it out of the apartment altogether. With that thought in mind, she returned to the foyer. She picked it up with thumb and forefinger, wanting as little contact with it as possible, intending to throw it out the front door and forget about it. It was heavy, with ornately molded, vaguely floral designs covering the back and handle. It made Devon think of some Victorian lady's vanity littered with a set of similarly decorative silver brushes and combs.

She blinked down at it and was surprised to find that she had been holding it in both hands, turning it around to carefully inspect the intricate design. With a gasp, she recognized the fascination spell and dropped the mirror at her feet. It landed mirror side up and while she stared down at it – still hooked by the fascination spell – she happened to catch her reflection and put a hand to her mouth, stifling a horrified moan.

* * *

Russo pulled in near an abandoned husk of a building. Made of heavy, red brick with small, glassless windows, it had the air of a factory from decades gone by. Claire peered into the darkness, noting an alley cat and what appeared to be the remnants of an entire bathroom – tile, bathtub and all – dumped next to the aging brick wall. The car sat almost a block away, in front of a fenced-in, nearly empty lot. A single, small shed sat back from the street, apparently the reason for the fence. A closed gas station and a junkyard filled out the street on the other side.

"You can't park here," she said. "The car won't be here when we get back."

"It's fine. I think word's gotten around that this is a more dangerous neighborhood than usual. It's how I found out about it; I heard people talking."

"They'll have heard us."

"That's why we're going to wait for them to come to us. Like I said, this is a more dangerous neighborhood than usual. I think they go after anyone who gets too close to their hideout."

"'Hideout'. You make them sound like Batman villains."

The women sat in silence, watching and listening for any signs of vampires. After five uneventful minutes, Russo shook her head and sighed.

"You got any wood?" she asked.

Claire chuckled, but chose not to make the obvious joke.

"I see a curtain rod over there that might be useful," she said. Russo nodded and climbed out of the car. The curtain rod turned out to be plastic, but they discovered an almost-intact chair that was transformed into sharp kindling in short order.

"Don't think you're getting this back, either," Claire hissed as she stepped out of her shoes. The pavement was freezing and she suppressed a shiver. She held up Russo's gun. The blonde shrugged.

"That's all right," she whispered back. She reached behind her and pulled another handgun, a smaller caliber than the one Claire had appropriated, from her waistband. "I got another one."

"Sneaky bitch." Claire's tone was approving.

Russo shrugged. "Vampire."

"Shall we?"

Like the windows, the door to the building was a gaping hole. There was enough ambient light for the vampires to see inside. Trash and grit littered the floor, and a few machines, too big or old to be worth stealing, hulked in the shadows, creating patches of deeper darkness.

Russo entered first, gliding in, her feet crunching on the dirty floor. She held her gun at the ready, left hand cupping her right as she swung it this way and that. She had stashed her two short stakes in her shoulder holster, ready to be drawn on a moment's notice.

Claire followed silently, gun in one hand and stake in the other. A couple of backup stakes poked out of her coat pocket. She tiptoed over broken glass.

"Do you smell anything?" Claire whispered.

"Just you."

"Likewise." They moved further into the room, careful to check for ambushes behind the ancient machinery. Finally, Claire announced, "Russo, there's no one here."

"Stairs."

"Where?"

Russo nodded at the back wall. Wooden stairs led up to an enclosed balcony. _Offices,_ Claire presumed. The boss could look out onto the entire floor from there. Russo led again, testing each step carefully before putting her weight on it. Claire followed a step behind, impatience winning out over caution.

"Hurry up," she hissed. Russo shot her a withering look over her shoulder. When they reached the landing, Russo stood, facing the door. "In your own time," Claire muttered.

"I'm listening."

Claire elbowed Russo aside and kicked the door open. The wood split, leaving half the door to bang back against the wall and the other half to fall to the floor with a dusty _whump_. Nothing moved in the room, and both vampires relaxed. The room appeared empty except for a large desk and a filing cabinet against the far wall. Strips of old carpeting had been nailed over the windows and Claire could smell the reek of vampires even over Russo's scent.

As Claire tore down the carpeting to let more light in, Russo tucked her gun away and searched the room. As soon as she rounded the desk, she stopped cold and swore.

"What?" Claire asked.

"Bodies. Three."

Claire joined Russo on the other side of the desk. Three bodies lay between the desk and the wall, out of the way of the rest of the room, two male and one female, all in their early twenties. Russo searched their pockets, and found three drivers licenses, all from Missouri. Any cash the wallets had contained was gone, but the credit cards were still in place. All three also had University of Missouri Columbia student ID's.

"That's a lot for three people to have in common this far from Columbia, if they're not connected," Russo said.

"You think they were kidnapped or something?"

"Why bring them here, if that's the case? Seems like a lot of trouble. I would guess they were traveling. Passing through here on their way somewhere else. Chicago, maybe, for a beach vacation before school starts?"

"They were taken some time ago, then."

"Yeah." Russo took the driver's licenses out of the wallets and pocketed them. "This would put them upwards of nine vampires."

Claire shook her head. "I've never seen a family that large."

"How big do vampire families get?" Russo looked genuinely curious.

"It depends, I think. The biggest I've heard of was in London. There were six originally."

"Originally?"

"Yes." Claire smiled. "Originally. We whittled them down to two in the end. There were other families, but none as large as that."

"Why—" Russo never finished her next question. She abruptly toppled to the floor with a grunt under the weight of a rather fat vampire.

"Russo," Claire said blearily. "There's a man on your back." Saying it out loud seemed to assist the observation in moving past the alcohol haze, and Claire took a shot at the vampire's heart from a mere two feet away with the .38. The shot missed and left a smoking, splintered hole in the floor next to Russo's head. Claire would never be quite sure whether to blame the martinis for her atrocious aim or the second vampire that piled onto her back just at the moment she fired.

Claire crumpled to the floor with an annoyed, "Oh!" and lost her grip on the gun. Her assailant locked both hands around her neck and squeezed. Claire rolled her eyes. She tucked her knees in and braced her hands against the floor. In one swift move, she surged back and up, using her legs for leverage and her arms for balance until she regained her feet and could lean her weight on her attacker. Startled, he let go of her throat and tried to pin her arms to her side, but she grabbed one arm in both of her hands, swiveled her hips to the side and swung him out from behind her.

The new vampire seemed to weigh little more than Emily, and to have about the same amount of wrestling skill. Used as she was to sparring with two male vampires both bigger and older than she, Claire's drunken enthusiasm got the better of her, and a move that was supposed to only shove the man away long enough for her to rearm herself instead sent him sprawling several feet across the floor.

"Fledges," Claire muttered disdainfully. She reached for one of the stakes in her pocket and spared a glance at Russo. The blonde was having trouble getting out from under her much larger opponent, though he seemed to be no more adept at fighting than Claire's. Russo at least had a stake in hand and was only grappling for the opportunity to use it. Her gun was out of reach, tucked into the waistband of her trousers at the small of her back.

Claire's fingers closed around a stake of her own, but the splintered edge caught on the fabric of her coat. Her opponent jumped to his feet and prepared to rush her. He was a skinny white kid, barely out of his teens, and either a junkie or ill in his breathing days to judge by his sickly appearance. Claire jerked the stake out, tearing her pocket and causing the remaining stakes to clatter to the floor along with the glass dolphin.

She stood and waited for him, a bland smile on her lips. He ran at her recklessly, apparently planning to tackle her. As he approached, her smile brightened and – too late – he tried to dodge around her and the stake held ready. Half expecting the move, Claire stepped aside to assist his attempted dodge and caught him in the back with the former chair leg as he stumbled past her. He made a choking noise, tripped over his own feet and fell face-first to the ground, where he lay still. A little trickle of blood dribbled out of his mouth to sink into the scarred wood of the floor.

Claire retrieved the .38 and sauntered over to where Russo still struggled with the fat vampire.

"Need any assistance?" she asked.

"If you don't mind," Russo ground out between clenched teeth. The fat vampire hissed at her. Claire aimed at his head. There was no way she could miss this time.

A step sounded in the doorway behind Claire, followed by a _thwip_. She screamed when a wooden shaft plunged into her back. Her hand went numb and she dropped the gun for a second time as she gaped at an arrowhead sticking out of the flesh above her left breast. It had missed her heart by barely two inches.

"Jeffery!" cried a deep, feminine voice behind Claire. "Get offa her."

Claire twisted, wincing at the pain in her chest, and saw a tall, black woman with short-cropped hair and a face that had begun to line with age before she died. The new arrival stared back at her with calm, assessing eyes as she nocked another arrow into a long, black hunting bow from a quiver hung over her shoulder.

"Thought I heard fightin'," the vampire said, a Southern twang in her voice.

"Dorothy, I presume?" Claire asked. The woman took aim.

"You presume right," she said.

Claire reached for a stake with her good hand, but finding her pocket torn and empty, she gasped and went to all fours to search the floor for one instead. Her fingers closed unexpectedly on the cool, smooth form of the dolphin. Dorothy let the arrow fly at the same time, and swore. It whistled over Claire's bent back and embedded itself in Jeffery's side with a meaty sound. The fat vampire howled and reared up on his knees. Russo took her chance and plunged the stake into his chest as Claire's fingers closed around the dolphin.

The stake was too short to penetrate the layer of fat to reach his heart, and Jeffery scrabbled at the stake, trying to pull it out while Russo crab walked backward. Dorothy took a step to the side and fired at the blonde, catching her just under the collarbone. Russo let out a feral hiss. Claire looked at the dolphin in her hand, and then at Jeffery, who had managed to pull the stake out but was having trouble with the arrow. She put the dolphin in her other pocket and reached around to break the arrow shaft where it stuck out of her back.

Jeffery called Dorothy's name and shambled to his feet, still struggling with the arrow. He momentarily blocked Dorothy's shot at Russo, and the vampire paused in her barrage to kick him out of the way with a curse. As he hit the floor with a _thump_ and a cry of pain, Claire yanked the other half of the arrow out of her shoulder.

The alcohol dulled the pain, but she had cause to regret the last couple of martinis as she grabbed a stake from the floor and tried to take advantage of Dorothy's distraction to attack from the side. Russo reached for her gun as she made an awkward attempt to stand and crawl backwards toward the window at the same time. Dorothy started to raise the bow and arrow again, but saw Claire coming. Before she knew what had happened, Dorothy had shifted her weight and landed a head-spinning kick to Claire's chest that lifted her off her feet and sent her sailing at the nearest window. The glass had long ago cracked in several places, and under the further impact of Claire's body, it shattered, raining glittering particles down on the sidewalk below as she clawed futilely at the air the whole way down.


	31. Hear 'Em Howlin Round Your Kitchen Door

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One: Missed Call 

"Dylan, I am telling you, it was Peg's charm."

"Claire, you were kicked through a window."

"And landed on a pile of cardboard boxes, without so much as a scrape from the glass! A faster, more efficient escape, I cannot imagine."

Dylan rolled his eyes and shifted the phone to the other ear. He wedged it between his head and his shoulder as he poured boiling water into the teapot.

"You were shot with an arrow."

"Yes, but I had dropped the dolphin then."

He made an impatient sound and cupped a hand over the mouthpiece.

"Emily," he called. "Turn the TV down!" In the living room, Emily did as she was told.

"You're not just letting her watch TV all day, are you?"

"Don't be silly, and don't change the subject," Dylan said, himself hastily turning the conversation away from the amount of television their daughter had been watching lately. "You won't find me buying into that nonsense."

"You're just jealous I've got my own law enforcement friend. She's federal, you know."

"Yes, well, mine's still active duty. Did she land on the boxes as well?"

"Yes, but I'd rather squashed them already. She had a harder landing. She said she managed to wing this Dorothy character, but I think she got the worst of the fight. Three arrows in the end. Honestly, who brings a bow and arrows to a fight?"

"Well, say what you will. It was effective. I'm surprised they didn't slash your tires." Dylan cleared his throat. "Do you think you'll be coming home soon? Emily misses you."

"Oh? Is she the only one?"

"No."

"Yes, I think I'll be coming home tonight."

"Why not sooner?"

"Because I'm hung over and feel like I was shot with an arrow and thrown out of a window. I'm going to bed as soon as I hang up." She paused. "There's also – I had a thought this morning. I need to sleep on it before I come home."

"What is it?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. I don't want to say anything now in case it's the exhaustion talking. I'll talk to you about it when I get home tonight."

They said their good byes and hung up. Dylan puttered around the kitchen in bathrobe and sweats, enjoying the lazy Sunday morning. He fixed his tea and settled down at the table to drink it over the morning paper. Ironically, he had resumed the habit only a few years ago, just when it started to become truly antiquated. He wondered what Christian thought about that – Christian who had harsh opinions on the availability of berries all year round and who still mourned the death of the house band, decades after its demise. Dylan caught himself smiling over a memory of Christian and stopped, banishing all thoughts of the man.

He turned his attention to an article about fuel prices and national defense. He snorted. Some things never changed. He took a sip of his tea and set the cup down, keeping his hand still wrapped around the mug – it had turned cold some time last night and his hands were chilled. At least the morning was overcast. Small blessings.

Most of the curtains in the house were still drawn and the house was pleasantly dim, though Dylan had applied sunscreen before coming downstairs. It had long ago become a habit, even on weekends. One curtain was slightly askew, the one he had peeked through to assess the weather. The window was on the West side of the house and faced the backyard. He glanced at it again, wondering if the weather would hold. There was nothing worse in his mind than a day both cold and sunny.

As he contemplated the forecast, a slight movement in the window caught his eye, like a shadow along the bottom edge of the glass. He frowned and stood to get a better view. Whatever it was moved again, and then was gone. Through the distant din of Emily's cartoons, he tried to hear if anything was moving outside, and thought he detected scraping on the concrete of the patio.

Emily jumped when her father appeared beside her and snapped up the remote. He clicked the TV off and put a finger to his lips to forestall her complaint. He glided back to the dining room, moving in a way she had never seen, placing each foot just so, and pausing every so often, like a cat on the hunt. When he reached the table, he froze and cocked his head for several long seconds, listening. There was a blur of movement that resolved into her father, once again beside her and gathering her up in his arms.

"Daddy?"

"Sh. You have to be very quiet."

With a few quick steps they were in the kitchen. Dylan grabbed his phone with his free hand and continued into the short hall that led to the garage door. A broom closet faced the utility room and he tried to drop Emily gently inside. The girl refused to cooperate, instead balling her hands into fists in his bathrobe and wrapping her legs tightly around his waist.

"Em," he whispered as he tried to pry her loose. "Em, you have to stay here. They won't hurt you if you stay perfectly quiet."

"No," she whimpered. "I don't want to stay here. It's dark, Daddy."

"You'll be safe. They only want me. Please, Em, let go." He crouched, disentangled her legs and started on her hands.

"What's going on? Where's Mom? I want Mom." Tears stood in her eyes when he finally stepped back, her little hands gripping his wrists.

"I'm going to call Mum as soon as I know you're safe."

"Who is it? Is someone trying to get in the house?"

"It's the other vampires, sweet. I've done something I shouldn't and they found out about it. They only want me, not you. You stay perfectly quiet like a good girl, no matter what you hear, understand?"

"But you didn't do anything." Emily gulped a sob.

"Yes, Em, I did. Will you stay quiet so they don't find you?"

Emily's breath became shallow and hiccuppy, but she nodded.

"Good girl. I'm going to call Mum."

Emily nodded again and sank onto the floor of the closet as he closed the door. She sat in the dark, afraid to move and breathing shallowly, trying to be silent just like her daddy said.

Dylan shoved all thoughts of Emily out of his mind. She was as safe as he could make her for now. No telling when they would break in, if they would simply overpower him and take him somewhere else, try to talk, or kill him right there in his kitchen. He hoped not the latter. Emily would find his body.

Contrary to what he told the girl, he thumbed in Nick's number first. Coming from Franklin, Claire would never arrive in time to help. Tension grew with each ring until when his call finally went to voicemail Dylan was ready to throw the phone across the room.

"… And I'll get back to you as soon as possible." _Beep_.

"Fine bloody time for you to leave your phone at home, Monahan," he hissed. "The others are skulking around outside my house – I can hear them – and it's all got to do with that Teresa woman. So help me, if you get me killed and don't even bother to pick up the fucking phone, I'll come back from the dead _again_ and kill you myself. Bring backup; Emily's here."

He hit the red button, ending the call, and went back into the phone's speed dial. At the same time, he began rummaging through the kitchen drawers, wishing he knew where Claire kept the knives.

"Thanks for coming, guys."

Nick gestured at the kitchen table, where Sarah stood, hands clasped nervously on the back of one of the chairs. She smiled at Charlotte and Zach.

"Coffee?" she asked.

"Sarah, you're a life saver," Charlotte said. "I am rampantly uncaffeinated. I forgot to set my alarm last night – I never think about it on a Saturday – so I slept in. I only woke up when Zach rang the doorbell."

The women's beta shrugged out of her coat and laid it over Nick's outstretched arm. Zach did the same. The men shook hands as soon as the coats were out of the way.

"I'm glad you called," Zach murmured under Charlotte's chatter. "Karen and I figured a meeting like this was coming, but the pack can be overly cautious. You saved us some political wrangling to be the first to make a move."

"Always happy to cut through bullshit."

Zach chuckled and everyone took seats around the table while Sarah poured coffee. Nick fixed his the way he liked it and sat back in his chair with one arm resting on the table.

"So, first of all," he began, "I want you guys to know that you've got –" Nick's phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID – Dylan – and hit a button to silence the ring. He would call the vampire back later. "Sorry about that. As I was saying, you've got nothing to fear from myself or any of my officers. I'm beginning to understand that Frank set the Gates up to be a kind of sanctuary for, um, unusual people."

Zach's mountainous shoulder lifted and dropped like a landslide. "I don't know what he set it up for, but that's how we use it." He frowned. "I'm a little surprised he didn't tell you about us."

"Really? I'm not." Nick chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd have taken the job. Of course, now that I have, I want to know what it is I'm dealing with here. Several people have turned up dead or missing just in the months since I've been here, and that's not even counting the mass robbery a few weeks back."

"Tell me about it," Zach said with a smile. "Asshole took my Xbox. I still haven't gotten it back."

Nick winced. "Yeah, we think he pawned some of the electronics in Franklin. We haven't been able to track it all down."

The landslide was philosophical this time.

"Anyway," Nick continued, "Werewolves aside, I want to get a handle on things here just to keep the peace, if that's even possible. I want to ask for your help."

Charlotte cocked her head. "In what capacity?" she asked.

"For starters, information. Frank's been reluctant to say anything and…" He thought of Dylan. "Well, I don't really have any good sources for information. People play it close to the vest around here, I've noticed."

"You can't blame them," Charlotte said. "Considering the last chief of police, well." She sipped her coffee, set the cup down and leaned forward conspiratorially. "Did you know Debbie Nguyen told me that her neighbor's son actually sold him pot? It's true!" As no one had indicated any skepticism, Nick supposed that was Charlotte's usual way to end a neighborhood anecdote.

"So," Nick said before Charlotte could say anything more. He pulled a green notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. "Do you know anything about who or what might be living here that you'd be willing to share with me? For instance, what do you know about Devon Buckley?"

Charlotte's face brightened and she took a deep breath to speak. Zach cut her off before she could start.

"Not much in the way you mean," he said. Charlotte rolled her eyes. "She smells odd to us, so we avoid her. We think she knows about us, but we don't know how she knows."

"That and Karen thinks she hits on Brett," Charlotte added. Zach made a noise of displeasure. "Well she does! I've seen it."

"Devon's not that bad," Sarah said, speaking up for the first time. The werewolves seemed startled, as if they had forgotten she was there.

Charlotte _hmm _-ed and feigned interest in her coffee cup.

"We don't trust her," Zach summarized. "She's had conflicts with any number of people, and always seems to come out on top of them. As a result, people either avoid her or flock to her, hoping to keep on her good side."

Nick remembered her effect on the pool party and nodded as he jotted down a few notes. Sarah frowned.

"I don't think you're being fair to her," she said. Charlotte looked at her, her brow beetling in thought.

"You should know she was involved with Chief Phelps," Zach said, ignoring Sarah.

"How, 'involved'?" Nick asked.

"They were sleeping together. She was also sleeping with one of his officers."

"How do you know that?"

Zach grinned and tapped the side of his nose.

"You could… smell it?"

"Yep. She only started sleeping with them about a week before Phelps _retired_." Zach made air quotes as he spoke the last word.

"You think that's significant?"

"Phelps was sleeping with three or four women at the time," Charlotte supplied. "I knew a couple of them. One time, I was having lunch with Lu—er, one of the women, when Phelps came up to say hi to her. I knew they were sleeping together, but her reaction was strange. She smiled and acted normal enough, but I smelled adrenaline, like she was scared of him and wanted to run." She tipped her head thoughtfully. "Or angry and wanting to fight. Could go either way."

"So she was sleeping with a guy she was afraid of," Nick mused. "Someone who was known to regularly blackmail the residents here for money."

"We're not entirely familiar with your…" Charlotte hesitated, searching for the right words. "Sexual mores. Would it be too far fetched to think he was extorting sex from her?"

"No, it wouldn't." Nick nodded slowly and wrote a few lines in the notebook. Distasteful as it was, it fit with what he knew of the man so far. "Do you think Devon was one of his victims?" he asked.

"I wouldn't call Devon anyone's victim," Zach answered. "But if he did try to blackmail her, it would be pretty convenient for her that her _other_ lover took him out."

"That's how things go with Devon," Charlotte said. "She always comes out on top."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Sarah exclaimed. "Devon should be able to sleep with who she wants without people accusing her of – of _murder_! Especially the murder of someone who sounds like he had it coming."

"Love—"

"I never said she killed anyone," Charlotte said with wide eyes, the picture of innocence. "I'm only pointing out that it was awfully convenient, that she didn't end up dead or in jail, and that for someone who lost two mates, she didn't seem to broken up by it." Charlotte sniffed. "But then, your people are a little loose in that way."

Nick glanced back and forth between the two women. Charlotte would not meet Sarah's furious eyes. Zach inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring. He spoke after a tense moment.

"I've noticed the same smell on Peg as on Devon," he said. "It's like a forest floor."

"But under the leaves," Charlotte elaborated. "A little like rot and earthworms."

"I noticed it was especially strong yesterday at the party, but—" he glanced at Sarah and did not complete the sentence. "You should know we think there might be a vampire here."

Nick gave a rueful chuckle. "Yeah, I know all about the vampires."

The werewolves' heads snapped around to stare at Nick.

"Vampires?" Charlotte squeaked. "As in plural? More than one?"

"Well—"

"Oh, my God! We have to tell Simon!"

"Charlotte…" Zach's tone was a warning.

"Simon?" Nick asked. "Is this the same Simon from Wednesday night?"

Zach glared at Charlotte, who sipped her coffee sheepishly.

"Look," Nick said, waving away his question about Simon. "I'm a little disturbed by the vampires myself, but I think they're here for the same reasons you are: security. It's not in their interest to start killing people in the Gates."

"What about the murders in Franklin?" Charlotte asked. "And what about Claire?"

"There was a vampire in Franklin," Nick confirmed. "But he wasn't from the Gates and he's no longer a threat."

"Is he dead?" Zach asked.

Nick hesitated, but finally nodded.

"But Claire!" Charlotte insisted.

"Claire Radcliff?" Nick asked, wondering if the vampire had been up to something he was unaware of. "What about her?"

"No one's seen her in days," Zach said. "We think Dylan might be a vampire and might have hurt her."

Sarah made a disgusted noise and left the table. Nick spread his hands out, silently pleading with her to stay, but she ignored him and disappeared around the corner.

"Okay," Nick said. "Dylan did not kill his wife. I was asked to keep this confidential, but since you apparently already know, there's not much point. Dylan and Claire are both vampires. I trust Dylan…" Nick tipped his head back and forth, "Mostly. He saved my life when he didn't have to, and helped take care of the vampire in Franklin."

"He turned Claire?" Zach asked, scowling. The expression was ferocious on the boulder-sized man. "Doesn't it bother you that he's turning his family when there's a kid in the house?"

"Wait a second. I don't know who turned who, but as far as I can tell, they've both been vampires for a long time, longer than Emily's been around."

Zach's scowl smoothed out in confusion and both werewolves blinked stupidly at Nick.

"You mean…" Charlotte ventured, "They've been vampires the whole time they've been here?"

"Far as I know, yeah."

"And Claire's alive?"

"Dylan doesn't talk much about his private life, but from what I can gather, she's gone to Franklin." He hesitated before continuing, knowing Charlotte's gossipy tendencies. "I think they had some kind of fight. No big deal. Happens to couples all the time."

"But are you sure she's alive?" Charlotte asked.

"She called here this morning to talk to Sarah."

The werewolves gaped at him and then at each other. Charlotte stood and reached into her pocket.

"I need to make a call," she said.

"Me too," Zach murmured and they both exited the house through the kitchen door.

A cold lump formed in Nick's guts and he pulled out his phone. _One missed call; One new voicemail_. Feeling a little ill, he thumbed up his voicemail box.


	32. Better Not Let 'Em In

Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I'm just borrowing it, and when I'm done I'll put it back where I found it.

A/N: I found out recently that I'm going to be moving within the month, so chapter updates will probably be pretty sporadic for the next few weeks. I'm hoping to at least get a chapter out every two weeks, but no guarantees. Normal posting will probably resume, oh... July-ish?

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Two: Better Not Let 'Em In

The patio doors crashed in before Dylan could complete his call, but just as he found the right drawer. He dropped the phone and took two knives, one heavy and sturdy, the other slender and sharp. The curtains over the patio doors billowed out in a sudden gust of cold wind and two forms emerged. Another crash sounded in the living room, but Dylan was too startled by the unexpected presence of two enormous wolves in his kitchen where there should have been vampires to take proper notice.

"What – oof!"

Two hundred pounds of gray-furred canine landed on the vampire from the side and teeth sank into the top of his shoulder, gouging through the terrycloth of his robe. He threw himself to the floor and wedged the bigger knife under the animal so the creature landed on the blade. The wolf _yipped_ in pain and squirmed away from the vampire. In the blink of an eye, the wolf was gone, replaced by a naked man that Dylan thought he recognized. The man pulled the knife from his side with a grunt and flung it aside. The wound immediately closed and Dylan hoped fervently that Nick had gotten his message.

The vampire dashed forward and hit the man hard enough to send him flying back against the kitchen wall, knocking over a chair as he went. He disappeared behind the table and a moment later reappeared, in wolf form, having jumped onto the table. The wolf lowered his head and bared his teeth.

Too late, Dylan realized his mistake. The gray wolf had been a diversion. While Dylan had dealt with him, the other two, a brindled animal and a smaller, red-furred creature had surrounded him. The red one darted in, and when Dylan slashed at him with his remaining weapon, the brindled one came in from behind and bit his calf. The vampire was quick enough to kick the brindled one in the face before it let go, and he felt a satisfying muffled pop of breaking bone. The animal whimpered and backed off far enough that Dylan could not strike him again without risking an attack from the other one.

The gray wolf, seeing the vampire's predicament let his jaw drop open in a canine smile. He jumped to the floor, his nails clicking on the tile, grabbed the curtains that still blocked the sun from coming in the patio doors in his massive jaws and pulled. The curtains came down, rod and all, letting cloud-filtered sunlight wash across the room.

Fully relying on the sunscreen to protect him, Dylan leapt high over the two wolves attempting to hem him in. The red one jumped and snapped at his feet, but could not reach high enough. The vampire landed on the gray wolf's back, but failed to break the spine as he had hoped to do. The wolf twisted and bit down on Dylan's forearm through the cloth of the robe while the red wolf yanked at the robe's tail. The vampire slashed at the wolf, but found the blade deflected by the animal's thick fur.

Only at that moment did the vampire realize how the indirect sunlight burned and prickled on his exposed skin. He saw the skin of his hand turn pink, and slowly redden. In a panic, he threw himself to the right, trying to move past the kitchen table into the still-shadowy living room, but the wolves were determined to keep him where he was.

He shrieked, hissed, and spat like a cat. He stabbed at the wolves with the knife, but lost it when the brindled one jumped on his back and attacked the hand holding it. He ducked his head instinctually to keep the worst of the sun off of his face, but could feel the skin of his hand and arm tighten and then split in the heat. The gray wolf worried at his arm, shaking it like a toy and tearing into muscle. Finally some sense returned and Dylan bucked the brindled wolf off of his back. He grabbed the gray wolf's snout and squeezed, forcing it to release his arm or be crushed. As soon as the arm of his robe was free, the vampire shrugged it off, causing the red wolf to stumble back into the kitchen island. The brindled animal leapt again, trying to tackle him back into the sunlight, but Dylan was too fast. He ducked and got his good hand underneath the animal and, using its momentum, sent it sailing end over end over the kitchen table and into the back of the couch.

With the red wolf behind him, the gray one in front of him and the brindled animal blocking his way to the living room, the clearest shot to safety now lay further back into the kitchen, behind the island and closer to the hallway where Emily hid. Dylan rocketed around the island and crouched in the relative safety of the shadows it cast. Some ambient light still made his skin feel tight and hot, but he knew from experience that he could heal that kind of damage almost as fast as it occurred.

He still needed to deal with the wolves, and for that he would have to choose a more favorable battleground. There was the hallway with the broom closet and utility room. It had no windows, and was a small enough space that they would be unable to play the monkey in the middle game they used to maneuver him into the light of the window. There was only one downside: Emily was there.

* * *

Emily hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to cry. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, but even the light that came in under the closet door was not enough to see by. She could almost make out the shapes of the objects around her. Not that she dared to look.

Emily had a good imagination, which was a good thing for an only child to have. It meant she could occupy herself for hours on end with her dolls and toys, inventing elaborate adventures for them to go on, dragons to slay and damsels to rescue. Sitting in the dark in the closet, however, her imagination had turned on her. Knowing that this was the case did not improve the situation because as every minute passed in that cramped space she grew more and more certain that she was not alone.

_It's not real_, she told herself. _It's just my imagination 'cause it's scary and dark._

She heard her father scream somewhere in the kitchen, and the growling of dogs. She gasped and hugged her legs even tighter. She knew that whatever was in the closet with her was somewhere behind her, hidden in the dark. Even if she turned to look, it would be invisible to her. There was a rustle, as of something brushing against the closet's back wall. Emily whimpered.

"It's a mouse," she whispered. Saying it out loud helped. Familiar noise seemed to make the closet less scary. "It's just a mouse."

Emily lost all sense of time. She tried to count the seconds at first, but forgot all about that when the sounds of fighting filtered through the door. Above all she knew she had to stay put. There may or may not be something scary in the dark with her, but there was most certainly something dangerous and scary in the light outside. She felt trapped and tried to start counting seconds again.

"One, one thousand. Two, one thousand…"

Something moved against the wall again and she thought she felt the coats that hung above her move, brushing lightly against the top of her head. She held her breath and closed her eyes, listening for any more noise even as she tried to convince herself that she was alone in the closet.

_Daddy wouldn't put me here if it wasn't safe._ There was no further noise, but she became more and more certain that it was because whatever was in the closet with her was now crouched right behind her, in the little clearing on the floor where she sat, staring at the back of her head.

To her credit Emily did not truly panic until the vacuum cleaner toppled over with a clatter.

* * *

Dylan heard the rapid click of claws on tile. The sound came from the right of the island, and he knew a wolf would soon interpose itself between him and the hallway. That made up his mind and he turned to the left and made a dash for the living room only to find himself outflanked once again.

The brindled wolf blocked the path to safety, its paws widely planted and teeth bared. The vampire leapt over the beast, but almost immediately twelve stone of red wolf landed on his back, arresting his flight to safety and driving him nose-first into floor tiles, but that hardly registered in comparison to the knowledge that he had landed squarely back in the light. He bucked and squirmed, retreating toward the shade of the island, but the gray wolf had him by his left arm and would not let go. Between the three of them, they kept his arm, shoulder, and part of his face and back in the light. As the vampire's strength and endurance ran out along with the blood that leaked from cracked skin and sizzled in the sun, the werewolves began to drag him inch by inch further into the light.

It was at that moment that all four combatants heard a clatter and a shriek from the hall closet. The noise tore through the haze of pain and rage that filled the vampire's brain. As Emily tumbled out of the closet, her face pale and terror stricken, Dylan ripped his arm free of the gray wolf's jaws. Though they had slackened at the unexpected appearance of the girl, most of the skin of the vampire's forearm remained stuck in the animal's teeth. The red wolf turned toward the girl as if ready to attack her, too. It was enough to make Dylan kick the beast into the paneling of the island and run for the hallway. The brindled animal made as if to follow, but was having trouble with two of its legs and was too slow to stop him.

Emily whirled to face the scene in the kitchen, and seemed ready to run in any direction. She froze when she saw her father, dark-eyed and bleeding, with blackened skin down his left side, dashing toward her.

"Daddy!"

He was barely a second ahead of the wolves, who had recovered from their surprise, when he reached the shadows of the hallway and shoved the girl roughly into the utility room. He slammed the door shut. Emily whimpered and her eyes widened, staring straight ahead as if blind, which of course she was in the darkness of the room. Dylan, however, could see quite well and scooped her up with his good arm. Running on vampire instinct more than anything else, he hugged the girl to his side and put his good hand gently over her lips to quiet her while he used what little strength and presence of mind he had left to pull together one last line of defense.

In the hall, he could hear the wolves sniffing around the door. A moment later, the door opened, and from Dylan's perspective, a thin strip of bright light appeared. He thought he saw the silhouette of the strangely familiar naked man for a moment, then all three froze. A moment later, the vampire heard it, too: police sirens growing louder by the second as they approached his house. Dylan showed his teeth though no one could see it. The wolves waited, cautious but patient now that they had cornered their prey. At the sound of squealing wheels in the driveway, they vanished from the doorway.

The vampire kept up his last defense even after the wolves were gone, unsure if they would return, and knowing he would be too tired to resume his defense once he let it go. The effort left him dizzy and he found the arm around Emily no longer restraining her, but supported by her. He heard voices, but could not think of a response at first. He rode on the instinct to hide in the darkness and stayed there.

"Dylan?" Nick called, his hand on the butt of his pistol. He did not draw it yet because Emily was in the house somewhere, and if something surprised him, he wanted to have the time to really _see_ what it was before he drew the gun and fired it.

A stocky, dark gray wolf trotted at his side, her breath coming in short huffs as she scented the air. Zach brought up the rear on two feet, nostrils flaring and eyes darting all over the room. Charlotte whined and trotted a little faster through the living room and into the kitchen. They hardly took the time to gape at the destruction in the kitchen. Blood had spattered on the tile behind the kitchen island and Nick stepped gingerly around it. The wolf led the way to the utility closet where she stopped cold and stepped back. Zach crowded the tiny hallway with his enormous presence while Nick pushed the door of the utility room open and felt his blood run cold.

"Jesus Christ," Nick whispered, more a prayer than a curse.

The room was pitch black. Weak sunlight from the kitchen filtered down the hallway, but stopped at the utility room's threshold. Even the door vanished into stark blackness at it swung inward. Charlotte retreated to the sunlight of the kitchen and Nick drew his gun, a cold sweat on his back. The way the room seemed to resist the light was… _unnatural_. He pulled the little gold cross out from under his shirt and let it lie exposed.

"I think I smell…" Zach murmured, then stopped, perplexed.

The police chief blinked and the shadows retreated, leaving the utility room no darker than one would expect. He wondered if he had imagined the black hole that had been there a moment ago. A mound on the floor moved and resolved itself into Dylan and Emily. The vampire slumped, leaning on his daughter.

"'Bout bloody time…" Dylan rasped before sliding to the floor, unconscious.


	33. A Dose of Reality

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, moonflower333 :)

Fandom: The Gates

Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia

Pairings: Canon

Rating: Call it PG-13

Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.

A/N: Thanks for your patience, everyone. We're heading into the final chapters here, and since I still haven't quite got the hang of ending a story... well, this might take a while. Chapters will be coming erratically instead of the usual once a week, but I swear to you, this will not be a dead fic. Just keep checking back for updates; they'll show up eventually.

The first part of this chapter will look familiar to those who read the chapters being replaced here, but don't go skipping anything because significant plot points have changed.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Dose of Reality

Devon sat at her vanity and stared at her reflection in the hand mirror. The reflection stared back. It was recognizably her face, but undeniably different. The changes were subtle, almost mocking, as if she had become a caricature of herself. She turned from the little silver thing to her makeup mirror and the distorted image there.

There was cruelty in her mouth that she had never noticed before, something in the way her lips seemed to naturally sneer. Had that always been there? Her eyes were calculating and greedy, unsatisfied with everything they observed. How could she have missed that? She read narcissism in her face and the set of her shoulders, self-centered and stupid. There was more. Every time she looked, something was different and subtly _wrong_ and she shuddered at the thought of standing naked before the full-length mirror in the bathroom.

The images conveyed a hard-edged truth that Devon could not deny. She was petty in every sense of the word. The Radcliffs could have killed her at any time, but they held back because _she was not worth it_. That stung.

She stood and paced the room, breathing hard and gulping back sudden tears. Clothes, hangers, and hair care products littered the floor and she kicked them out of her way. Unimportant. She was unimportant. That was the worst part.

The witch stood in the middle of the room and closed her eyes. She grabbed her hair in both fists and forced herself to take deep breaths while willing a little clarity into her mind. How had things gotten so bad? She used to be someone in the Gates. The wife of the developer, the center of the social scene. Now her place had been usurped by Vanessa – no. She took one last deep breath and lowered her arms to her side. If she had ever been as important as she thought she was, the divorce could not have taken it from her.

Devon made a frustrated noise and started tossing objects into a suitcase that was already nearly full. There was no hope it could contain everything she intended it to. She laughed a little. Maybe there was a spell for that.

* * *

Dylan woke with a gasp of pain. The bed trembled and the sheets felt like sandpaper against his burned skin. He turned his head and opened one eye to see Emily clambering across the comforter. From somewhere nearby Nick's voice said, "Emily, sweetie, hop off the bed. You're shaking it."

"It's alright," Dylan croaked. He raised his less injured arm, inviting the girl to curl up next to him, which she promptly did. He held still and composed his face while she settled herself comfortably. Though it hurt, now that he knew he was in no immediate danger, the vampire could accept the pain and mentally set it aside.

"You back with us or are you going to start talking about Michael again?"

Dylan stiffened and stared at Nick. The chief of police stood by one of the heavily curtained windows, one finger holding the fabric back just far enough for him to peek through the glass. The vampire's head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and the only response he could muster was a confused, "What?" Nick let the curtain drop and walked into the bathroom. Dylan noticed for the first time that he was not in uniform. When he returned, he held a bag of blood at arm's length.

"Here," Nick said, trying not to let the disgust show on his face as he handed the bag over. "Can you drink it on your own?"

Emily uncurled enough to lean close to Dylan's ear and whisper, "He's a wuss."

"I heard that," Nick said without ire. Dylan chuckled and regretted it. When the pain subsided to a level he was prepared to cope with, Emily helped her father cut the bag open and drink while the police chief returned to his vigil at the window.

"What was that about Michael?" Dylan asked when he had finished off the bag.

Nick shrugged. "You woke up about fifteen minutes ago, drank some… some of that." He gestured at the empty bag on the night stand. "Then you said something about a guy named Michael. I'm guessing you two aren't friends."

"No, I suppose we're not. Chalk it up to lack of blood to the brain. How long have I been here?"

"'Bout half an hour. Zach helped carry you up before he and Charlotte went after the wolves that attacked you. Claire called just after I got here. She knew you were hurt. Now, I'd really like to know how she knew that but first, if you're feeling up to it, I think we should go to my place. I don't think it's safe here."

"And your house is?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Actually, no, but I don't think it's an option. See these burns?"

"They're hard to miss."

"Well, I put the sunscreen on this morning. I always do."

Nick frowned at him. "So what are you saying, it doesn't work anymore?"

"I don't know. I don't want to think that far ahead. I know it's not working today."

Nick swore. "Well, that explains it. Claire said she couldn't be here until tonight. I just thought she was still pissed at you." He shrugged. "Guess that solves one problem for me. Here I was, trying to think of a way to break it to you easy that your wife couldn't be bothered to show up to your mauling."

"You needn't have bothered." Dylan smirked. "She dispensed the last one."

"Domestic disturbance, huh?"

"In her defense she did help set my leg afterwards."

"Nice of her."

"I thought so."

The blood was doing its job and Dylan felt as if the cobwebs in his head were being swept away. He sat up a little and Emily scooted to the side as he began to take stock of his injuries. Bites pocked his arms, shoulders, and one leg, but most of those were already scabbed over and itching. Burns on his shoulder and back had begun to reverse the process of tightening and cracking. Blackened bits of skin had flaked off and dusted the sheets.

When he leaned forward, the pillow case stuck to his back and his head filled with white noise as he slowly separated the cloth from skin that had healed around the fibers. Emily took over when he found he could not reach far enough toward the left side of his shoulder without opening wounds again. If she or Nick said anything, Dylan could not hear it over the white buzzing in his ears. He must have blacked out again because he was suddenly aware of Nick supporting his back and head while Emily helped pour a glass of cold blood down his throat.

"Sorry," Nick said a few minutes later. "Claire said not to wrap up your arm, but I didn't think about..." He raked a hand through his hair, tension that had begun to relax snapping taught again. "Shit."

"It'll heal," the vampire assured him. He glanced at his left arm and quickly away again. The mess of burned and torn meat did not bear thinking about just yet. He leaned forward, preventing his back from touching the pillow again, and, drawing up a knee, rested the unburned side of his face against it. "I've had worse."

Nick shook his head and managed a small smile. "I think you're lying to me again."

"Not a bit of it. Did you know we can regenerate whole limbs?" Dylan rolled his eyes at Nick's stricken expression. "That was meant to reassure you."

"You suck at reassurance."

The vampire turned to his daughter and sighed. "You're right. He is a wuss." Emily smiled but the humor dissipated quickly. Dylan cleared his throat. "Is there any more blood?"

The police chief barely hesitated before retrieving two more bags from the bathroom.

"This is it," he said as he handed them over. "There's nothing else in the house and don't expect any donations."

Dylan downed the remainder of the blood in short order.

Nick picked up Claire's vanity chair and sat it down next to the bed. He pulled his cell from his back pocket and sat. "If we can't move you, then I'm going to ask Sarah to pick up Emily."

Dylan's arm tightened around the girl and he almost protested, horrified at the thought of separating the family more than it already was. Vampire families congregated in times of crisis, seeking strength in numbers, unless the crisis was a spat between family members, which was often. He took a deep breath and nodded. Emily could no more protect him than he could her in his current state of injury. She did not argue, only gave him a grim smile.

"For what its worth," Nick said after snapping his phone shut, "I trust Zach."

"Well that just fills me with confidence, you being such a good judge of character and all." Exhaustion leached much of the sarcasm from his voice but Nick seemed to understand the spirit in which the comment was intended.

"I think I'm a pretty good judge of character."

"And yet here you are keeping watch over me. You're like my own personal Renfield."

"There you go, thinking everything's about you again. Are all vampires this egotistical or is it just you?"

Dylan's mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep for a solid twenty-four hours but could not risk the vulnerability. Talking kept him awake and the banter was amusing enough.

"Far as I'm concerned," Nick continued, "This is purely professional. There's been a break in and an assault and since I can't exactly bring in backup without more explanation than its worth, here I am." Nick sighed. "But seriously, Dylan, what am I supposed to do about this?"

"I hear silver bullets are effective."

Nick laughed quietly and shook his head. "I don't want to play vigilante again. I trust Zach enough that if he says he's going to head off another attack, I believe him."

"Don't be stupid. The wisest thing for them to do is to regroup and come at me again with more force, and maybe even to kill you too. I won't be able to fight them off again, and they must know that revenge is fairly likely."

Nick shook his head. "That's not the vibe I get from them. I don't think they'll be back." The police chief leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his face the picture of reasonability. "And anyway, look, you'll make a full recovery and there won't even be any medical bills, so there's no need to get back at them."

"It's not just about getting back at them." Dylan turned his head to meet the police chief's eyes. "Even if they don't attack again today, they may change their minds at any time. The closer I get to a full recovery, the more I start looking like a threat. If they don't attack today, it only means I heavily injured their most capable fighters. It's a race to recovery, that's all. I'll be safest if I strike first."

"They thought you were like Justin, some out of control killer in the Gates. They did what they thought was right."

Dylan moved his right shoulder in a miniscule shrug. "Maybe, but that's out the window now. If I wasn't really a threat before, then I most certainly am now. And here you are in the middle of it. No telling what they'll do with you. For your own good, I suggest you stay out of it."

"'Fraid I cant do that." Nick shrugged and leaned back in the chair. He gave the vampire a crooked smile. "Comes with being the chief of police."

"Then they will probably kill you too."

"Do all vampires think this way?"

"All the ones who survive to my age, yes. Kill or be killed, you know. It's the only sensible thing to do."

"Uh-huh," Nick said skeptically. "So what are you going to do? Sneak attack them with your crutch?"

Dylan regarded the police chief for a long quiet moment then said, "I have several options but the most attractive is to run. Tonight, when Claire arrives, we'll pack and go to Franklin. I'm in no state to pick a fight with anyone and Claire got into a scrap in Franklin so she's not at a hundred percent, either."

"What happened?"

"More vampires. Someone's turning people again."

"For the love of... Hang on. You mean to tell me that you'd rather go to Franklin, where the vampires that somehow injured your wife live than try to work it out with the werewolves here? How is that a better plan?"

"The vampires don't know where I live."

"Okay, look. Will you do me a favor?"

"Probably not."

"Shut up. Just don't do anything crazy, huh? Give me a chance to figure this out my way. Zach's a reasonable guy."

"Why does it matter to you? Aren't you going to Miami?"

"What?" Nick frowned in confusion for a moment, as if the thought of leaving the Gates had not crossed his mind since his first mention of it to Dylan several days ago. Then he blinked and his face cleared. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe. I'm thinking about it." He pulled his phone out and started pushing buttons, avoiding Dylan's eyes.

"One liar knows another, Nick," the vampire said gently. "Who are you calling?"

"Frank."

"You're getting more people involved? You do realize that he's the one who let them in and then neglected to mention it."

Nick put the phone to his ear and smiled the first real smile Dylan had seen from the man all day. "Exactly," he said. "And when this is over, I'm going to ask for a raise."


End file.
